Over The Counter
by BlurtItAllOut
Summary: There's a 24/7 grocery store in Bushwick, where you can do your emergency purchases at any hour of the day or night. And maybe you can even do a better bargain than you'd ever dream of.
1. Blaine's Corner Of The World

**This story was written for NaNoWriMo, and was a project where I wanted to test various things and give myself new challenges as a writer. This is mostly a fluffy piece, and me trying something different as a writer, and I hope you'll enjoy it. Blaine and Kurt didn't meet during high school, and that's about all you need to know. I don't stray too far from canon up to Kurt's graduation in other ways, but some on certain aspects, which I think will be clear eventually, but feel free to message me if you have questions.**

**The story is in 21 chapters, and an epilogue. As the story is 97 per cent finished written, or so I think, I'll update fairly frequent, but I don't dare to commit to a set schedule, because things have a tendency to interfere.**

**Spoiler alert - I don't want them, you've seen more of season 5 than I have yet, so please don't talk about it :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, or anything else you might recognize here.**

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Blaine stretches his sore arms in the air, standing on his toes and pushing himself as long as possible. His fingers reach for the ceiling, without being close to touching it, before dropping. He shakes his arms, clenches his fists, and exhales deeply. He hasn't had time to find a gym after he moved to New York, somewhere he can continue the boxing he enjoyed so much at his high school Dalton Academy – as a stress reliever, for physical exhaustion, and to keep in shape. It's been more than four months since graduation, he's lived in New York for almost three, and he's not as strong anymore. He doesn't like it, he doesn't like to experience his body disappointing him, he doesn't like the reflection in the mirror revealing his arms and body losing definition, and he doesn't like to acknowledge how unprotected it makes him.

After _that dance,_ it's been important for him to stay in shape, and to take care of his body. That night taught him two things: Life is unpredictable, and your body is a fragile place to be. Ever since, he's made sure to be in shape. He doesn't know if it'll actually work, but it eases his mind to hope he can protect himself if he ever needs to again.

These days, the only exercise he gets is frantically running around on campus to find classrooms he hasn't memorized where are and how to reach most easily yet, and restocking shelves and refrigerators in his job. As soon as he's gotten a grip on college life and established some familiarity and routine, he'll have to find a gym. His body needs it, his sanity craves it.

He takes a step back to evaluate his handiwork. It's a slow night, so he's restocked most of the shelves in the small shop. They weren't empty, most of them actually more than half-full. But he needed something to do. He had spent thirty minutes trying to play _Roar_ on the harmonica he bought on eBay on a whim last week, without a single customer interrupting. So he decided to brim the shelves.

His body reminds him that all the crouching, lifting and stretching are still unfamiliar movements, but he shushes it patiently, ignores its whining. It's simply a reminder that he needs to find his gym.

He looks around in the small shop, wondering if there is something else he can do. There are still more than three hours left of his shift, which ends at 5 AM, so maybe he should perfect _Roar_ before sweeping the floors, preparing yesterday's newspapers for return, or checking the refrigerators for groceries with an approaching expiry date to put in front.

So Blaine sits down by the cash register, and picks up the harmonica again. He's grateful for the job. One of his best friends from Dalton; Wes, helped him land it. Wes' dad has a cousin who runs a 24/7 grocery store, and was interested in hiring a student willing to do a couple of night shifts each week. Luckily for Blaine, Mr. Parks recently had to fire one of his employees for smoking weed in the store, and Blaine had been more than willing to move to New York a couple of weeks earlier than intended to begin his new job as soon as possible. Before he left, his Dalton friends threw a big farewell party. The graduates would be scattered around the States, some of them even going to Europe and Australia, and who knew when they'd see each other again? Blaine, really sentimental and slightly drunk, had hugged Wes and thanked him profusely for the job.

"Don't mention it," Wes had smiled. "You know the Asian community; it's tight," Wes had winked. With his Filipino mom and American dad, Blaine probably wasn't more than an honorary Asian – not Asian enough for some and not American enough for others, but it's okay. He's used to not being enough. Not masculine enough, not tall enough, not straight enough to pass without a nagging wonder, not gay enough to avoid girls' advances, not strategic and determined enough to please his dad.

The small – or as Blaine likes to think about both himself and his work place; compact - 24/7 store is located in the basement of an old, tall brick building in Bushwick, with offices on the ground floor, and apartments of various sizes on the next six floors. The building is located on a calmer backstreet, withdrawn from the busiest activities, and in a cheaper area. Blaine probably wouldn't ever stumble upon it if he didn't know about it. But he isn't exactly a local either, an Ohioan boy who recently moved into his brother's apartment on Manhattan, about thirty minutes with the subway from work.

Mr. Parks had to be doing well enough if he kept the store open 24/7, even though Blaine's shifts usually are calm. Two nights a week and one night in the weekend, he works from 8 PM to 5 AM, when the eager morning bird Mr. Parks comes back to man the store. The day after working isn't always the easiest, but fortunately he doesn't have many morning classes. The shop is also quiet enough for him to get some reading done, so he can sleep during some of the hours he'd otherwise study. Blaine has always had a lenient relationship to sleep patterns and separating night from day, so this suits him fine. He is Nightbird, after all. He's also lucky enough to be able to sleep whenever he wants to, giving him even more flexibility to juggle work and studies. It's only a little more than one month into his first college semester ever, so he expects it to be rougher later, but for now he manages.

Eventually, he probably should find a job closer to where he lives, with better working hours. Or find a job more relevant to his education. Blaine wants to be a performer, not a cashier. But for now, he's just glad Wes could help him. It's not easy to land a job among the myriad of new students in the city and other New Yorkers who are desperate for a part-time job. This job secures a steady income, and if he finds something better, he can simply quit. But for now, he's happy to be here. He has time to read, he hopes the harmonica can help him compose music for class, he rehearses dance steps between the aisles, and there's coffee brewing in the back. The work tasks are easy, and it didn't take him long to conquer the register at all. The customers are usually nice. He's begun to recognize the regulars, and appreciates the nocturnal small talks with the now familiar faces. He doesn't have to travel or work during rush hours. Despite his mom's worries, he isn't afraid of armed robbery. Yes, there are many reasons to appreciate his job.

The few things he doesn't particularly enjoy about his job, is the lack of natural light in the basement and the lack of reception in the underground store. The store is lit sufficiently; he just misses watching out of windows, observing the world around him. And when there is a lull, it's impossible to pick up his phone to kill some time texting friends and his brother who live in parts of the world which have daytime when it's after midnight in New York, or explore the internet for entertainment.

His brother Cooper lives in LA, and got his big break almost a year ago, with his supporting role in the latest Martin Scorsese-movie. Coop had decided to invest some of his pay check in an apartment on Manhattan, so he had somewhere to stay if he had to relocate for upcoming projects. It had struck Blaine as a bit odd, because his brother was more of a live in the moment-kind of guy, rather than planning for his future. Coop's purchase came after Blaine applied for college, and an eager brother had instantly suggested Blaine should stay there instead of in clammy, crowded, dirty, yucky dorms. So far, Blaine's had the one bedroom-apartment to himself. When Cooper eventually needs it, Blaine plans to sleep on the couch, or if Cooper will stay for long, maybe Blaine should find his own place. But for now, he's happy to stay, even though the apartment is swankier than expected for a college Freshman. Fortunately, Blaine is a mature and sensible boy, and he couldn't dream about throwing a party or anything else reckless. The neighbourhood is safe and calm, the concierge always has a smile for him, he has mastered the art of travelling with the subway, he splurged and went to see a real Broadway show after his first pay check, school looks promising, and there are some friendly faces in his class he's had lunch with and can chat with between classes. All in all, Blaine's life is pretty put together.

Still, Blaine can't help feel something is missing in his life. At Dalton, he dated Sebastian on and off, with Sebastian dictating the temperature of their relationship, and it had in hindsight probably been more fooling around than actual dating. At least Blaine had learned a lot from the more experienced boy, and he also knows more about what he looks for in a partner and relationship now. After graduation, they mutually decided to split, because they clearly wanted different things and would be doing that in different places. When Blaine discovered how not heartbroken he was, he promised himself to go slow from now on, and not throw himself around. He wanted romance, he wanted sweet gestures, he wanted inside jokes, he wanted a soul mate, he wanted a real boyfriend. For the other things, there is porn.

Working nothing but nights means that Blaine gets to interact with a certain kind of customer. The segment is most definitely quite narrow compared to the general population in New York as a whole. Their purchases probably reflect the imbalanced representation as well.

He's been approached by a fair share of bacchanalian customers, and is proud to say he hasn't sold a single one of them any alcohol. His easy way with people, his manners and patience, probably helps him to convince the customers they should buy some water, Advils and coffee instead. They also often end up buying a lot of junk food. Seeing as he works in a grocery store, and not some take away-shack, he can only hope they don't fall asleep from the frozen pizzas they are cooking or the microwave dishes they are heating. Snacks in every variety and bags of ice are also classics, and he wonders if there are any dorms nearby, or simply a lot of students and young people accidentally living in the area, leading the good life.

His nights can be so brimmed with contrasts it's amusing, thinking about how different lives people in the same city, and even the same street, can live. There's a certain crossing point between three and five, when some people end their day and others begin theirs. Some are stumbling home after a party, while others are getting up, bleary eyed and semiconscious, to begin their shift somewhere. They have in common that they often drop by Blaine. They don't have a coffee machine in the store, and maybe he should suggest it to Mr. Parks. But the store is only a block away from the subway entrance, and they have iced coffee, pick me up-red bulls, fruit, some packed lunch-options, and other possibilities for the dawn haters and lovers.

Some of the customers seem to fall between the home from party or off to work-categories. Blaine is curious about them, and likes to create stories in his mind about them. He likes to think about it as plot and character-exercises for class, and not creepy behaviour. Depending on his mood, he has created stories about vampires that are hiding during daylight, and do their shopping at night time. One man is a struggling author who is struck by inspiration, writing until his fingers bleed, and he needs a cigarette break on his tiny balcony. But he's out of cigarettes, again, and has to run down to Blaine for his nicotine fix. Once, Blaine noticed a heavily bearded man showed up during full moon to buy chocolate and batteries, and Blaine had easily conjured an entire gay erotic werewolf-trilogy for him, involving a sparkling dildo and melted dark chocolate.

Then there are the regulars, who know the store better than they know Blaine, because he's still new, invading their territory. But he's beginning to recognize faces; some have gotten names to them, and some have left him titbits of information, intentionally or by happenchance. Blaine likes to gather the information and puzzle the pieces, making a picture, guessing the unknown and revealing new traits and quirks.

Some people are more interesting than others. Some are less memorable, even though he tries to be his polite and charming self, treating everyone with a certain degree of kindness, and thanking them for choosing his particular corner for groceries and night time emergency goods. And some are unforgettable, catching his attention from the second they walk in.

For instance the young man entering at this moment does, the old cow bell over the door jingling annoyingly to alert Blaine of a new customer. Which is stupid, really, because the store isn't exactly huge, it's impossible to hide in it, and Blaine can see all of it from his tall stool by the cash register.

The young man, however, is far from annoying.

There's no established pattern to his visits, so Blaine tries to prevent himself from hoping tonight is the night he'll come by again whenever he clocks in for a new shift. He tries not to expect him or wait for him. The young man drops by often enough to be considered a regular, but Blaine hasn't been able to establish what kind of shopping category he falls into. There's no predictability or pattern or repeated actions that help Blaine decide that the young man is on his way to work, on his way home from a party, a nocturnal struggler, or any other category in which Blaine usually can sort his customers. Well, that's not accurate. Blaine has ruled out that he's some homeless guy seeking out the grocery store for warmth, because he's usually dressed immaculately and sometimes in outfits Blaine recognizes from Vogue. He doesn't strike Blaine as an alcoholic either. Blaine is against generalizations, and knows that alcoholics come in all shapes and from all social classes. But the young man has never ever bought any alcohol from him, or even showed up inebriated. Even though Blaine isn't certain about the boy's age, although probably around his own, he thinks even underage alcoholics would try to buy booze if they had an addiction.

Blaine has tried to construct a background story for the boy, but despite of his returning customer-status, it isn't much Blaine knows about the boy. So he's stuck with his far-out and creative speculations.

He knows that he is devastatingly handsome, with eyes he can drown in. So expressive, so deep, so mesmerizing. He can't describe their colour, though; it seems to change from day to day. He looks otherworldly, with his lively eyes, fair skin, lithe figure and sometimes quite outrageous clothes – but Blaine will never judge him for it, he'll always admire someone bold enough to make fashion statements and dress however they want to, even though he may have other preferences for his own wardrobe. Blaine is pretty sure the boy is gay, but after leaving Ohio he's realized that metrosexual young men with stereotypical looks and interests often prefer girls, and that it's both okay and normal to stand out without being pegged as a deviant, as gay. In a colourful city as New York, it can actually be difficult to stand out. There are more shapes to men in New York, and not only the jocks, nerds and queers from his first high school, or the homogenous uniform clad bunch of boys at Dalton.

Blaine knows he's infatuated with the gorgeous customer, otherwise it wouldn't have bugged him this much that he doesn't know more about him, and Blaine would have simply settled with creating his own story instead of longing for accurate details and information. He may have thought about the young man as a spectacular alien at some point, in a scenario where the Nightbird made an alliance with the beautiful creature to create a better intergalactic world, and then they fell in love and got married in a chariot on the Milky Way.

Even Blaine knows that's farfetched.

He just wants to know more about him. Or, rather, something. The young man is always polite, thanking him and bidding his farewell, smiling enough to be friendly without making it personal, private or intimate. Sometimes he knows exactly what he needs, and is in and out of the store within minutes. Other times, he takes his time walking up and down the few aisles, as if weighing his options. Blaine, not a stalker but a concerned cashier, follows him with his eyes, and that's when he sees him at his most bared. As the boy compares two cans of peas and tomatoes, his face is brought to life, and Blaine can almost see his internal discussion flash over his face, when he thinks he isn't seen. The boy makes Blaine feel curious, and he just wants to know him. There's something captivating about him, and Blaine has the distinct impression that he's someone worth getting to know. If only Blaine wasn't so shy and inhibited around cute boys…

But maybe cashier-Blaine is braver than Ohio-Blaine, and can in all of his professionalism dare to talk to the pretty customer. Blaine, who usually is so eloquent and socially adapt, able to function in any setting after having been through one too many dinner parties and social events as an Anderson-son, has never mastered the art of flirting. Either he makes too grand gestures out of it, or he treats his infatuations as world secrets. With Sebastian, it had been straightforward, because the other boy never hid his intentions and desires, and it had been easy to simply join in and let Sebastian succumb him, and take the lead. But Blaine can't approach a customer with sexual innuendos, so he'll have to brave small talk with the boy he can't get out of his mind, trying to get closer to him that way. Hopefully, one day, he'll be able to string a sensible sentence in front of him.


	2. Kurt's Sanity

Sometimes, Kurt wonders if he can plead temporarily insanity. Then again, how temporarily can it be, if he after more than a year still hasn't done anything about it? So maybe he'll have to admit permanent insanity. That would explain why he thought living in a loft apartment in Bushwick with Rachel, and later Santana, was a good idea. Well, it's true that it is a loft, but to call it an apartment is probably stretching it. Never has the description "open solution" been more accurate. Except for the bathroom, there are no walls, and curtains can only give so much privacy.

The three of them graduated at the same time from McKinley High, and Rachel and he moved directly to New York. Rachel had been accepted to New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts, NYADA. Kurt had briefly thought about auditioning when she began gushing about the school, the possibilities, how she was going to fulfil her Broadway-dreams, and then preparing her application. But Kurt never mustered enough courage or self-esteem to take the same path. Loving musicals, loving to sing, loving to perform, yes, sure, but he probably didn't have what it'd take. He never got any solos with New Directions, no matter how eager and ambitious, and he never felt that his voice and will to lead them into song was appreciated. Nobody ever told him how great he was, it was always other people in the Glee club that got the praise.

Eventually, the reflection in the mirror who tried to boost him wasn't as convincing as before. He made one last effort to see if he could share Rachel's dream and path. He mustered enough guts to audition for _West Side Story_ their Senior year. Backed up and kicked out on the stage by an eager Rachel, was also Finn, who had been more focused on football until Rachel convinced him to go for it. Kurt lost the role of Tony to Finn, because he apparently didn't make Coach Beiste's lady parts tingle. That was when he decided that there simply weren't enough parts in the world for a boy with his brand of masculinity to make a living of it. Most of the boys in school had decided he was a princess anyway, and except a misguided Mercedes their Sophomore year, no girl had ever considered Kurt an object of their attraction. Brittany not included, her perfect record can't count. He simply couldn't offer the business what they'd ask for, and it was better to pursue something he could actually have a glimmer of hope surviving.

So music would always be a passionate hobby, but for his career he turned to the other love of his life; fashion. He is determined, not afraid to stand out with his wardrobe, and in fashion that is even applauded, admired and desired. After sending in his portfolio, he was happily accepted to study fashion design at Parsons. Rachel and he spent the rest of their Senior year plotting and planning, gaining a few reality checks on the road when they figured out what real life costs and how New York works, but the loft in Bushwick had eventually become a home. Even without walking distance to Broadway, or a large kitchen, or huge open bay windows with a magnificent view.

Santana had initially stayed behind in Lima, not willing to leave her girlfriend Brittany, who surprisingly unexpectedly had to redo her Senior year. But eventually Santana realized Lima wasn't big enough for her, and she didn't want to be seen as one of those losers who never manage to move on from high school, but hang out in the schoolyard with their younger high school-friends instead of pursuing new fields of happiness (her sentiment). She hadn't quite known what she wanted to do in life after rejecting the Cheerleading scholarship Coach Sylvester landed for her, but spent last year with odd jobs here and there, while auditioning and figuring out if performance ran in her blood too. Santana didn't like to think that maybe Rachel and she had something in common, but it was suspicious how often she'd wander around on NYADA grounds.

Carmen Tibideaux had rejected her after her audition, because she thought Santana had an attitude problem, at which Santana had replied something in Spanish that does not bear translating. But Santana had been accepted at Tisch, and would start her first year as Kurt and Rachel begun their second year of college. It was just as well, Santana had insisted, because Tisch would offer her a broader education, a wider range of skills, and more possibilities than simply aiming to be a Broadway-Baby. Even before her first day at Tisch, Kurt had realized that bickering between the girls about the merits of NYADA versus Tisch would be daily occurrences from now on.

Fortunately, Brittany had also been accepted at Tisch, with her mad dance skills. Brittany had wanted to live in the on campus-dormitories, as she thought it would give her a summer camp-experience, rather than find a tiny apartment for Santana, her and Lord Tubbington. As a consequence, or so Kurt desperately hoped, Santana would spend a lot of time on campus. When Brittany and Santana _traded lady kisses_, it tended to get loud.

Again, curtain walls can only offer so much privacy, even with head phones or ear plugs. Temporarily insanity? More like permanent insanity. He knew far more about his roommates than he'd ever expected or desired, and he silently hoped they didn't know equally much about him and why some of his showers took time. But secrets, of any kind, are difficult to keep when you live together like that.

His days were busy at Parsons, and thanks to the prestigious name of his school and a probably exaggerated recommendation from one of his professors, he had worked at Mood Fabrics for the last two months. He'd happily quit his job in the nostalgic diner which Santana had helped him land, and embraced the possibility to work with textiles and fabrics, and once in a while spot a familiar face from Project Runway. Kurt was not seasoned enough to not be star struck, after only a year in New York. Three afternoons each week was spent in the fashion house, and it gave him valuable experience with fabrics and accessories for his studies, discovering treasures he didn't even know existed.

An evening now and then is spent with Kevin. He had been a Senior to Kurt's Freshman, but they didn't meet until Santana threw a wild party in their loft in the beginning of May as a last hurrah before exams kicked in. It turned out a friend of a colleague of Santana was a brother of Kevin's roommate. Or something like that. The important thing was; they were both there.

As a young, romantic and wide eyed Freshman, Kurt had been blown away and floored by the charming, confident and handsome Senior. There had been a few coffees in between the busy end of school year-activities, and some random texting while Kurt spent the summer in Lima and Kevin part of it with his family right outside Boston and part of it job hunting in New York. Nothing serious had happened between them, though, and it was all very casual and non-committing. But after they all came back to New York, Santana threw a back to school-party, where Kevin showed up after work. He still had this post-summer glow to his hue, dark and handsome and impossible to ignore, he teased them for still being in college, and with a flirty smile told Kurt excited anecdotes from work which made it tingle in Kurt's stomach. When Kevin two days later texted and suggested a coffee date, Kurt had jumped at it, hoping his tingles were returned.

Despite of focusing on haute couture during his education, Kevin had managed to land a job with costumes in _Kinky Boots_. He mostly did check-ups and repairs after each performance, as the show premiered before he graduated and costumes were set for the time being. But they'd had to change an understudy who got pregnant, and Kevin had tailored the new girl's costumes. Now and then Kevin would text Kurt, and ask him to join him at the theatre for the night, to get a glimpse of how working with clothes could be. Their dates hadn't been that frequent or elaborate, but their clashing schedules didn't exactly cooperate and encourage it, and it was tricky to work around them. Coffee dates, a drink after a performance bought by Kevin who jokingly teased him for being underage, a late Sunday brunch after the matinee, or a movie on a Monday when the show wasn't performed. Kurt wasn't sure if spending a night gluing sequins to drag queen-boots was considered a date or not, and yet that was what the two of them most often did and how they most often spent time together.

Despite of Santana's innuendos and dirty mind, Kurt always went home, alone, after those outings. Not that Santana had any business in his sex life, but it was pretty non-existent. He wanted to take things slow. Unlike most teenagers, he had hardly dated in high school, and he didn't want to risk doing something he'd later regret because he was restless, inexperienced, impatient and touch-starved. His dad had once told him he mattered, and Kurt wanted for what he did and who he did it with to be something that mattered too.

The speech came after Kurt met Chandler, and Burt had to face the reality of having a teenage son with a dating life. The dating life was short lived, though. Chandler was cute, he was funny, and his excitement over the things Kurt loves was a welcomed change after being ridiculed for the same things in school. But in the end, they decided to stay friends. Or, in reality, losing touch and probably never seeing each other again. Kurt always felt exhausted after a date with Chandler. Initially, he thought the boy's enthusiasm and bubbly personality was refreshing, but spending some time with the energetic and never-ending go-go-go boy was draining, and Kurt always felt as if he ran late, couldn't catch up, couldn't keep the same pace. Chandler unwillingly made him feel inadequate, and that was not a good feeling. There were enough boys in school who already contributed to that, some girls too.

It was often late when Kurt came home from a costume-fixing-but-is-it-a-date with Kevin. The performance would go on to ten thirty, and then Kevin would help the actors and actresses undress and sort costumes. When everyone had left, and nobody could catch them, Kevin and Kurt would go over the costumes to see if anything needed repairs, hang them up and prepare for next performance. With the long commute back to Bushwick, it was more often than not past midnight before he was home. It did serious damage to his night time moisturizing routine, and morning classes the next day were a pain. Part of him wanted to stop that particular arrangement, but another part of him wanted to learn more about Kevin and see where they could go, and yet another part of him was excited to learn more about the backstage workings of a real Broadway play. Rachel loved to pimp him for details, claiming it would improve her, and make her more prepared for her own inevitable, impending casting.

He's just walked away from the subway station, relieved that the subway is a more or less 24/7 occurrence. Sometimes he still feels like that small town Ohioan, in awe over things that the locals take for granted. Public transportation in Lima wasn't awful, but you needed a car to get around between certain hours, and most definitely at night. Another thing they don't have in Lima? Grocery stores open 24/7. Hell, you'd search futilely for any kind of junk shop or food source open at all hours. Finn had been in heaven the first time he visited, and hadn't slept all night, running down to "their" corner store whenever he thought of something he'd want. Like potato chips, a six pack of red bull, a new shower gel for Rachel, lip balm for Rachel, extra batteries to the remote control for the TV, eggs for an early breakfast omelette (even though Kurt insisted it wasn't considered breakfast at 4 AM).

Finn had made individual errands for each purchase, but Rachel had finally put her foot down and stopped his enthusiastic shopping when he came back home with a multipack of condoms. Rachel had blushed and seethed, exclaimed those were not for them if he had though it sufficed as foreplay, before stomping off to her curtain-corner. Finn had shouted frantically after her that it wasn't for them, it was for… And then he'd looked around the loft, looking for an answer. His eyes landed on Kurt, peaking out from his curtain-corner, still trying to sleep despite of his brother's juvenile shopping joy. Kurt had glared at him, and Finn had shivered, probably trying not to think about Kurt having sex (which he didn't, but he wouldn't need Finn to buy him condoms, that's for sure). So he'd told Rachel they were for Santana. The lesbian. Well done, Finn.

Kurt smiles fondly at the thought of his brother, and walks to the corner store Finn had been so enthusiastic about. Their fridge had been depressingly empty this morning, and he needs to buy something for tomorrow's breakfast. He has a long day tomorrow, and needs a solid start to endure it all. He's awfully short on money at the moment, four days before the next pay check. He scraped together what he could find of coins and change in the bottom of his satchel, in various jacket pockets, in his wallet, in Santana's wallet while she slept (she owed him, probably, most definitely). It wasn't much, but he's learned to stretch money. He ate healthier back in Lima, but that kind of food costs more, so he's had to re-evaluate and redefine his diets after he began living on a student's economy.

He walks down the stairs and giggles soundlessly at the now familiar cow bell which chimes as he walks into the store. He strides purposefully to the isle of canned food. Fresh vegetables are out of question by the end of each pay check, so he hopes he'll find something that can offer at least some vitamins. He scans the shelves, nothing really tempts him. It's around 1 AM, he's tired, he's confused by Kevin's kiss on his cheek as they separated, he is suppressing an urge for junk food, and he is already dreading having to get up early to cook breakfast before a hell day at Parsons and Moods.

He picks up two cans of beans in tomato sauce. They look similar, but he isn't easily fooled. There is a 12 cent difference, and the more expensive one contains 300 grains less. Not logical, but part of reality. The cheaper one contains more sodium, though, and after his dad's heart problems, he tries to stay away from salt in any kind of diet. But there's also a big sticker offering two for the prize of one, which makes him smile widely. Screw sodium, he thinks, this will be breakfast for three days. That, and a bag of pasta, because Santana has probably eaten the remaining eggs in the fridge. Yeah, she totally owes him.

He quickly makes a mental inventory of both kitchen cupboards and his own wallet, and decides he doesn't need more for now. His feet ache, and his eyes are drooping from exhaustion. He just wants to get back to his bed, instead of duelling healthy meals versus economic culinary. So he walks over to the counter with his two cans of beans and bag of pasta, and smiles tiredly at the cashier. It's not the same person manning the register each night, but Kurt has seen this one plenty of times for the last couple of months. He feels both admiration and pity for the poor soul, who has to work at these ungodly hours.

The boy – young man? Kurt isn't quite sure when the transition from one to the other happens, isn't sure how he'd label himself, even – closes a notebook he was writing in, puts it on his high stool, and jumps down on the floor to scan Kurt's measly purchases. Kurt suppresses a giggle at how the cashier looks so much smaller when he stands on the floor than when he sits on the tall stool. Kurt doesn't mean to be rude; the boy is actually quite gorgeous, and size isn't everything, as they say. The stool is ridiculously tall, as if he's a lifeguard who needs a view of the entire store all at once. Or maybe he's sitting in a lighthouse? God, Kurt needs some sleep, desperately, if this is the thoughts his mind conjures.

There's a certain charisma simmering from the boy, something in him that makes him noticeable and impressive despite his lower physical attributes. Kurt can't pinpoint it, but he could have rambled on for hours if he allowed himself. About how the boy always has a smile, and no matter how dead on his feet Kurt feels, it is impossible to not respond to the smile. Or how his eyes are so warm and sincere, and Kurt almost believes the sincerity in the words when he's being thanked for shopping in that particular corner of the world. And about how the boy has the most excessive collection of bowties he's ever stumbled upon – because Kurt is the kind of guy that notices details like that week after week, and it might even rival his own dresser brimming with scarves. Or how Kurt hasn't seen any other cashier rock the ugly green apron the same way this particular young man does.

"Do you want a bag for that?" he asks after accepting Kurt's random gathering of coins in payment.

"Nah, thank you, that's fine, I don't have long to walk at all," Kurt waves off, dumping his breakfast ingredients in his satchel. It drops heavily on his shoulder, but he'll be home in literally four minutes. He'll cope.

"Thank you for choosing Monty's Corner Store for your nocturnal shopping," he grins, and Kurt can't help but shake his head in amusement and smile back. He ducks his head, and waves at him as he turns to walk out. "Sweet dreams!" the young man calls after him.

The smile stays on Kurt's lips for the longest time. In the elevator up to the loft apartment, he checks his phone. Still no answer from Kevin about them having lunch tomorrow. He's probably in bed already, considering how close he lives to the theatre. Kurt interprets it as no to lunch tomorrow, and logs in to his email to confirm the counselling session with his pattern and composition-teacher at noon. He's not putting his schedule on hold for a boy who can't make up his mind about lunch.

Kurt tiredly folds his clothes before leaving them in his hamper. He slips into his pyjamas, before curling up under his soft covers. His feet aches, his head hurts, his muscles are sore, but his brain is wide awake. As usual. It's as if it can't stop buzzing with all the impressions from throughout the day, the lessons, the ideas for his assignments, the things Kevin says and doesn't say… Often, Kurt will take the time to work through everything simmering in his brain. Analyse his relationship with Kevin, draw rough sketches of his ideas, make a to do-list for Santana's neglected cleaning-duties, compose an email to his dad… But there have been one too many sleepless nights lately, and Kurt needs some rest if he's supposed to function for the rest of the week. So he stumbles out to the kitchen for a bottle of water, and pops an Ambien. Hopefully, it'll kick in soon, so he can get at least five or six hours of sleep, a drastic improvement from the last three nights.


	3. First Encounter

**Thank you so much for the overwhelming feedback I've gotten for this new story! The first two chapters were more about background, setting the scene, and from now on you'll get the actual story, plot and development. I hope you'll enjoy!**

**If anyone can recommend some fluffy, nice Klaine-Christmas-Fic, I'm not opposed to knowing about them.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or anything else you may recognize here.**

* * *

Blaine startles at the sound of the angry cow bell. He'd been lost in writing lyrics, composing what could be an epic love song, if only the words would be slightly more cooperative. Blaine is stuck on finding something rhyming with heart that isn't fart or apart. And suddenly there _he_ comes running in, looking as stunning and gorgeous and captivating as always. Blaine hardy notices the goose bumps covering his bare arms, and his right hand is almost cramping up from how tight he's holding the pen, rushing to write down the sentences that all at once stand out in his mind at the sight of the customer.

The young man – and one day Blaine is going to muster enough courage to ask him for his name – picks up a basket, so obviously he'll be doing some extended grocery shopping tonight. Or rather, today. Blaine just started his shift this Friday, and it isn't often he sees the boy as early in the night as 10 PM.

He follows him with his eyes, taking in the elegance he moves with. Blaine wonders how it'd be to dance with him, with such a lean body that seems to be floating across the room. He has such nice posture, almost regal, with his head held high and shoulders straight, but not rigidly. Even though he seems to be shopping without a specific list, doing random purchases, his strides are confident and certain. Blaine imagines being in his arms, lead across the dance floor in a steaming tango, or the young man wrapped around Blaine from behind, letting the pounding beat from a captivating pop song guide their movements and pulse through their veins.

Blaine imagines finally putting the dance classes from when he was a kid to use, and twirling the beautiful boy in an elegant waltz. He looks perfect for that, solid and gracious, and Blaine knows from the several times he's served him that he has absolutely perfect eyes. He could stare at them while waltzing them around the room forever.

Who is Blaine kidding? What's the point in daydreaming about passionate dancing, when he doesn't even know his name?

Blaine straightens up from his slouched position, leaning on his elbows on the counter, the notes for his lyrics right under his nose. Moving out to New York is a dream come true for Blaine. He's always loved the city for all of its possibilities. He still doesn't feel acclimated, but maybe he never will be, maybe he will always be slightly in awe of this place, maybe it'll never stop surprising him, maybe he'll never fully understand the potential here. But instead of being dumbstruck and overwhelmed by it, Blaine's already decided to grab the bull by its horns, or grab the city by its options, and take advantage of as much as possible, living life to the fullest. He's a survivor, and a fighter, and he's going to show them all. Blaine Devon Anderson will be happy. And if he wants his dating life to mirror that happiness, he has to stop being so shy. He should at least try to say something more profound to the cute customer than "do you want a bag?" Even Babe managed to say "I carried a watermelon."

Blaine sighs to himself, talking some pep to himself, as he watches the young man walking through the aisles, dropping this and that into his basket. By the section for toiletries he stops, though, looking quizzically at the varieties and options. More thanks to his uninhibited helpful gene than his newly made resolutions, Blaine is soon out on the floor, approaching the best looking customer in New York.

"May I help you?" he asks politely, trying not to startle the boy who looks lost in thought, comparing two containers of… tampons? He looks up at the sound of Blaine's voice, though, and a delicate blush is painted across his cheeks.

"For obvious reasons I don't have much knowledge about these," he says and gestures with the tampons in the air. "My roommate sent me on this mission, while she's back home clutching at her pink fluffy hot water bottle. My sympathies to her female Eve-pains, but don't send your boy for that kind of shopping," he shudders, putting the boxes back on the shelf. He picks up three different bags of sanitary pads instead, looking at them with a sceptic gaze. "Who knew there are so many options? This is much more difficult than planning two fabulous sets of outfits for each day of the upcoming week every Sunday night, you know."

He finally meets Blaine's eyes, and instantly stops talking.

"I'm rambling," he says, and shakes his head, seemingly flustered.

"I can't say I have much experience with these either," Blaine apologizes with a smile, and wow, when did he start being sorry for not having ovaries? "Didn't she give you any specifics?"

The boy raises an eyebrow and scoffs.

"For once, Miss Berry was unable to give one of her painstakingly detailed instructions. That girl is such a control freak; it's a testament to how much her lady-issues bother her that I'm here instead of she," he says dryly. "Don't get me wrong, I love her dearly, but do I look like the man for this?"

Blaine allows himself to give the boy an obvious onceover, before shrugging.

"She's lucky to have you in her life, though, helping a damsel in distress like this," he says, wondering how he can work in a subtle enquiry whether the girl is "just" a friend. How does one find out if a guy happens to be gay, without asking how much morningbread he wants for breakfast, like Sebastian would have done?

"I don't know about that. She said she'd do the same for me, and I guess that's love. Although I'm not sure what the male equivalent to tampons would be."

"Condoms?" Blaine shrugs.

"Isn't every modern sexually aware woman carrying condoms these days, taking responsibility for her own pleasure and protection? Or at least so Carrie Bradshaw says…"

"I wouldn't know," Blaine shrugs. "My last date brought his own," he says easily, following his new mantra of _out and proud in a safe New York._ If he can call it a date, whenever Sebastian snuck into his room after curfew back at Dalton.

The boy looks curiously at him for a moment, then smiles. "I guess I'll have to come up with some way my best hag can repay me," he says, looking shyly at Blaine. So, gay then. Blaine beams at him.

"I usually at least get the cute boy's name before I discuss condoms with him," Blaine boldly teases. "I'm Blaine," he says, automatically extending a hand to the one he managed to call cute, etiquette and manners ingrained from childhood and Dalton kicking in.

"Kurt," he says, quirking his lips, and shaking his hand.

Blaine swears he feels tingling when their hands touch. He can't help blushing, and looks shyly up at Kurt through his eyelashes. It's such a cliché, but Kurt does that to him. Blaine's never learned how to flirt naturally without serenades or seduction, and he honestly doesn't know how to act in front of someone as stunning and breathtaking as Kurt. _Just be yourself_, he can hear his brother insisting, and that's easy for him to say when he has confidence in surplus and alternative egos in reserve for various occasions. Blaine only has himself on offer.

Blaine has the presence of mind to let go of Kurt's hand, and scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed for not being able to just for once be normal. Kurt looks amused, but then tears his eyes away to check his phone in his pocket. He sighs loudly.

"If you had any reception down here, I know my roommate would be on my neck for letting her suffer alone and taking my 'sweet time'," he says, making air quotes with his fingers. "But as it is, I have her purse, bursting with her latest pay check, and orders to help her through this. I guess I should obey orders."

"How may we go on to save your friend, then?" Blaine asks, and when did this become his mission as well?

"I really don't know. We've lived together for more than a year, been best friends for more, and I've never seen her affected like this. She said something about still adjusting to a new brand of pills, but I didn't pay attention. I really don't want to know about my roommates' periods and sex lives," he shudders, and pales. "So instead I'm rambling about it to an almost stranger. I'm so sorry, I promise I'm usually not crazy, and I have been known to be able to hold a normal conversation!"

"Normalcy is overrated," Blaine shrugs. It's actually kind of adorable, watching Kurt rambling like that. It's nice to know that Blaine isn't the only one who can struggle with his eloquence at times. "Besides, we're on first name basis now. If I had a roommate, I could tell you something revealing about them in exchange," he smiles teasingly, and the gorgeous guy – Kurt – smiles back. "Do you recognize any of these packages from your bathroom?" he asks, taking a hazarded guess that two assumed students aren't living in a mansion with plenty of master bedrooms.

Kurt shakes his head, almost looking defeated.

"Are there any brands you sell more of than others?" he asks hopefully.

"Umm, no, not that I've noticed. Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize for everything," Kurt snorts, and determinedly grabs one of the packages of tampons.

"What else is on your shopping list?" he asks, and glances at the basket by Kurt's feet. It's already loaded with three types of fruity teas, painkillers, nail polish remover, two cans of vegetable soup, and matches.

"A strenuous effort to find vegan junk and comfort food," he rolls his beautiful eyes. "I'm thinking about popcorn and two pints of Ben & Jerry, and she'll just have to deal with that."

"Vegan?" Blaine asks surprised, raising his eyebrows.

"She is; I'm not. She claims she can't eat anything that comes from unhappy animals, including eggs and milk, and she has no way of knowing the mood of the animals, thus going all vegan. But I know she's a sucker for Ben & Jerry, and makes an exception for them, eluding herself by saying something as delicious as that ice cream has to come from happy cows," Kurt smirks.

"So basically you're preparing a night of splurging?"

"In honour of female reproduction cycles. Or in mourning, I'm not quite sure what her vote would be in a couple of days."

"Well, in my opinion you can never go wrong with ice cream," Blaine concedes.

They stand in front of the cold fridge for a while, discussing the merits of the various types of Ben & Jerry the compact store has to offer.

"I literally have to force my feet to walk right past the freezer, otherwise I'd bring a box home from work every single time. And that would inevitably only make me someone's _Chubby Hubby_," Blaine sighs exaggeratedly sadly, nodding at the namesake pint.

A shiver runs down his spine as he realizes Kurt is blatantly checking him out, with a teasing smile on his lips. It doesn't matter that Blaine did much the same to him earlier, it still feels new, exciting, different in all the best ways.

"I wouldn't worry as of yet," Kurt says and grins impishly.

It leaves Blaine all kinds of flustered. He isn't fooling himself into thinking the gorgeous customer is flirting, it's just silly bantering, but it still affects him. Especially because he isn't happy with how his body has deteriorated over summer, without the workout he used to do at Dalton. He has to find that gym he's longing to, and prove Kurt's words true.

"_New York Super Fudge Chunk_," he blurts out, and Kurt raises one eyebrow in amusement. "When I first came to New York," Blaine continues, swallowing dryly. "It was among the first things I ate when I got here. I was so ecstatic to finally be here, so I ate and drank anything that had New York in its name. As if it would make me more of a local or give me a grander experience, I don't know. It's silly," Blaine shakes his head, trying to ignore that he hasn't quite been able to get rid of that habit yet.

"_Coffee coffee buzz buzz buzz_," Kurt says, and Blaine recognizes the name, because yeah, he works here, after all. "I was cramming for my first exam, making an allnighter of it, and my roommate demanded I eat something, claiming I couldn't survive on coffee alone. So I ran down here, and bought two pints of _Coffee coffee buzz buzz buzz_," Kurt laughs shyly, briefly looking down at his shoes.

"Ah, a fellow coffee lover," Blaine chuckles.

He wants to say more, but he has to leave him to attend to a customer, though. Two girls have a basket full of beer, potato chip and dip. He remembers to card them, and blushes in embarrassment when he sees they are both 23. He's never been good at guessing people's age, and especially girls. They are able to look so mature with the right clothes, hair and make up. Maybe spending most of high school in an all male boarding school stunted his knowledge about girls, as well. That, and you know, being gay and focusing more on the other half of the population.

The girls wink at him when he bids them goodbye, and walk giggling up the stairs, talking about some basketball game.

"Did you find everything you need?" he asks sweetly when Kurt pulls his basket up to the counter.

"Yes, thank you, your service is truly outstanding," Kurt says teasingly, and Blaine can't stop the fat grin that forces its way out.

Blaine carefully packs Kurt's things in a plastic bag as he scans each item. He makes sure the potato chips won't be crushed at the bottom, and he tries to place the microwave popcorn just so, so that no sharp corners will poke through the plastic and stab at Kurt's legs.

They finish the transaction of money, change and receipt, and Kurt seems to be smiling sincerely when Blaine equally honest wishes his roommate a quick recovery. His eyes are trained on Kurt as he leaves the store, and Blaine realizes his job suddenly got much, much better.


	4. Nurse Hummel

**So many wonderful reviews and feedback from last chapter, you guys are amazing! Thank you so much!**

**This chapter continues from where the last ended, in case that seems unclear.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or anything you might recognize here.**

* * *

"How are you, sweetie?" Kurt asks sympathetically, as he closes the heavy door to their sanctuary.

"Awful," Rachel sniffs. "I'm re-evaluating my religious stance. If I don't believe in the Genesis, I cannot suffer from Eve's mistake, right?"

"Oh honey…" Kurt coos, and walks over to the girl curled up on their adopted couch. Literally. Rachel found it by an apartment building two blocks over, three weeks after they came to New York. Money was shorter than ever imagined, and their loft looked more like somewhere squatters stayed than an actual apartment. Rachel had called him and yapped ecstatically about the couch, and Kurt was so fed up with sitting on throw pillows that he allowed Rachel to talk him into helping her carry the worn down couch home. Thank god for elevators, at least. He'd made Rachel promise to disinfect and scrub it thoroughly before taking it into their apartment, and he'd bought some cheap fabric and elastics to make a less hideous cover for the originally bright orange and spring green-striped furniture. But it was comfortable enough to sit on, and it had been free. One day, they'll be able to afford brand new furniture from IKEA. One day, Kurt hopes to afford a few pieces of design furniture that hasn't been mass produced in Scandinavia.

He runs a hand through her hair, the only part of her visible from under the thick blanket she's draped over herself.

"Do you need more hot water?"

The head nods.

"Have you heard from Santana?"

The head shakes from side to side, minutely. Kurt sighs. The third roommate was probably at Brittany's place. And that wasn't fair at all. Two girls would be better at taking care of Rachel, seeing they could easily relate and would know what to do. Kurt's compassionate gene hates seeing someone in pain, and he feels helpless watching Rachel curled up and uncharacteristically silent like that.

He unloads the groceries, and with the matches he bought he lights several scented candles around the living room-part of their apartment, hoping it'll calm his best frenemy somewhat down.

"Do you want me to put on a movie?"

Rachel nods, and Kurt quickly finds _My Fair Lady_. It's Rachel's go-to comfort-movie, and is stacked within easy reach of the DVD-player, together with _Moulin Rouge_ (for Kurt) and _Kill Bill_ (for Santana). Hesitantly, he pats the quilt-covered lump on the couch somewhere approximately around the shoulder.

"Are you sure you shouldn't see a doctor?" he asks worriedly. With no female influence in the Hummel household, he really doesn't have much experience with this kind of problem, and despite numerous sleepovers with his girls back at McKinley, this particular topic was never a subject. Thank Gaga. But now he only feels helpless, and not grateful.

"I'm not dying," Rachel croaks. "This is what it means to be a woman."

Rachel's ability to still be dramatic is actually kind of reassuring, so he pats her shoulder, or what he believes it is, once again, before leaving her and heads for the kitchen. Or, to the corner of the living room-section which contains the kitchen appliances. He fills the electric kettle to the brim, knowing the amount of water it takes to cater for both her tea and for the pink fluffiness she's curled around. Then he empties the bag from _Monty's_. The ice cream goes to the freezer for now, and he pours the soup cans into a pan. He adds coconut milk, and starts slicing a few carrots and potatoes, half a leek and some other vegetables he finds in the fridge. He's learned during their time in New York that sometimes shortcuts in the kitchen are necessary, and to base the soup on cans isn't a crime if it means quicker and better seasoning when he's in a rush. As the soup simmers, he folds the bag to store in the appropriate drawer, and that's when he finds two smaller objects he knows he didn't buy. He takes out the two chocolate bars, and when he double checks the bag, he finds a folded note. Something is written seemingly rushed on a torn off piece of sheet paper.

_Kurt, _

_I remembered my best friend's sister always crave chocolate once a month. Maybe it can help your friend? One is for you, for taking care of her. They're free because of expiry date, but should still taste yummy._

_Blaine_

Kurt reads the note one more time. Blaine gave him and Rachel chocolate? When did he do that? Kurt would have noticed if he had sheet paper on the counter, that's nothing he often sees, and his eyes are still drawn to anything musical. Blaine must have managed to prepare it in the short time Kurt finished his purchases on his own.

Still, that's really… Thoughtful and considerate. He flips one of the chocolate bars between his fingers, and checks the date for the heck of it. They expired yesterday. And it's dark chocolate, so Rachel can eat them. She can eat _it_. One bar for her and one for Kurt, as Blaine had ordered. Kurt smiles, and can't help but bounce on his sock-clad feet. Someone who gifts him with chocolate and is obviously into music, is a man to keep around, Kurt grins.

"Rachel, do you want chocolate?" he calls to her, and with a lot of effort she forces herself up in a sitting position so she can see him over the back of the couch.

"Yes, please," she nods. He throws it at her, and she sinks down on the couch again.

His own chocolate bar, however, he takes to his room. He's saving it for tonight, alone with one of his favourite editions of Vogue when Rachel's fallen asleep. It _will_ be a nice reward, but now he needs to finish cleaning up the kitchen and make her soup.

"I hope these are okay," he says, and gives her the tampons. He'd ended up choosing them because the container was pink with gold stars. It looked very Rachel Berry-esque.

She smiles strained at him, but brings a hand out from her wool cocoon. Instead of taking the female hygiene products, she takes his hand, and whispers a thank you. She may not be on her death bed, but she's being true to herself. When Rachel Berry feels, she feels with all of herself.

He prepares a cup of tea for both of them as the soup simmers on the stove, and refills the water bottle with hotter water. He's going to suggest a manicure when they've eaten, to get her mind on something else, and because her nails and cuticles are in dire need of some care and attention anyway.

"Thank you," she murmurs. "You're being very generous and selfless. I know you had a date with Kevin tonight."

"Yeah, well," he brushes it off. It wasn't really a date. It was helping him backstage at the theatre again, maybe some making out when everyone was gone, and catching a midnight sandwich or something, before Kurt eventually went home. Kevin had more than once suggested that he could stay the night at his place, but Kurt held back. It didn't feel quite right yet.

When Kurt had called him to cancel their plans – because a simple text seemed impolite and not caring, he'd been surprised by Kevin's reaction. He'd hoped for disappointment, because he enjoyed spending time with Kurt, right? He'd assumed he'd feel sorry for Rachel, even. He hadn't expected the man to be pissed and calling Rachel selfish. It was Kurt's decision to take care of Rachel when he came home from school and saw just how miserable she was; she didn't ask it of him. And nobody gets to badmouth his friend like that. So he'd ended the phone call curtly, telling Kevin they'd see each other next week, and thus implying that no, they would not follow up on their tentative weekend plans of going to that art gallery one of Kurt's colleagues had gushed about.

He'd seethed silently for a while, staring at the black screen on his phone, swallowing the disappointment. He didn't have much romantic experience, but he had a true romantic soul. He'd always imagined it to be _more_ when you fell in love. He'd always expected to feel more strongly, to lose himself in every overwhelming sensation of falling in love. He'd daydreamed about courting and romantic gestures. Chandler had been able to give him some of that, with his almost exaggerated enthusiasm for everything they did. He'd been so attentive and catered to all of Kurt's needs, until it choked him. Kurt had learned then, that as much as he liked romance, he wanted it to be two-sided, mutual, reciprocated. He wasn't some helpless lady to be wooed. He loved all the gestures and small gifts from Chandler, but he hated that the boy didn't give him enough air to return the favour. There was never the time or possibility to give something back, because Chandler was always one step ahead of him. It had been flattering, until it was simply exhausting and made Kurt feel useless.

He did feel more equal to Kevin, but there was still something missing. Being with Kevin was easy enough, but it felt low key, noncommittal, trivial. Kurt had been floored by his looks and charm, but the free falling had stopped there. Maybe Kurt was high maintenance, but he missed feeling important, he missed feeling as if someone made an effort for him. Being snuck into someone's work place to help him with a glue gun or a needle wasn't exactly the epitome of romance or lavish attention. But maybe they were getting too old for that? Maybe Kurt was stuck in some high school-sweetheart fantasy? Maybe it was about time he got a reality check, and learned that relationships are about companionship, compatibility, safety, care, trust, stability, and eventually love? Because that's what it felt like, with Kevin. It wasn't a whirlwind, it was hardly a breeze, but it could be seen as good enough if Kurt learned to adjust his expectations.

At least it had been until Kevin talked condescendingly about Rachel. It had pissed Kurt off, and after calming himself down, he'd emerged from his curtain and told Rachel he was at her service for tonight, and offered to go shopping if there was anything she needed. Which it was, and she'd given him her purse, telling him to pick snacks for both of them. He had been silently fuming in the elevator down, because he was a college student, and Friday nights should consist of more fun than nursing your best hag's _menstruation_. It wasn't her fault, though. Kurt's karma just wasn't cooperating at the moment. He'd given himself permission to take share in Rachel's comfort food, just for that reason, even though he tried to stick to a strict diet until he found time to work out more often to stay in shape. At least in high school he got some exercise from dancing with New Directions, and running away from the jocks.

He moves to clear the table when they've finished the soup, and brings back the two pints of B&J and spoons. He's ready to sulk in calories, when he remembers the conversation with Blaine. They hadn't concluded with any favourites, but it had been fun. And maybe one of Kurt's comments had been kind of flirty, and he wasn't all that comfortable with that, because it felt too close to cheating if he was going somewhere with Kevin. But it just came so easily to him with Blaine. Who was also an outofstater. And apparently loved coffee.

"Are you feeling better?" he asks, when the TV-screen loops the menu options of the finished movie. Rachel stretches on the couch, her naked feet still peaking out from under the blanket after he painted them with sparkling glitter-pink nail polish. It's awfully gaudy, but it had made her smile.

"I'm obviously not well yet, these unique female problems can be very difficult. But I'm learning to suffer through it. When I begin performing on stage eight times a week, I can't let bodily functions hold me down. The show must go down," she smiles, eyes twinkling in that almost mad way that is a trademark of Miss Berry. So she is feeling better, then. "Do you want to pick next movie? _Moulin Rouge_?"

"No, I'm not in the mood," he mumbles.

"Not in the mood for _Moulin Rogue_? Kurt, what's wrong?" She touches her toe nails daintily, and decides they are dry enough to curl up her long legs and hug him tightly.

"It's nothing," he waves it off.

"It's never nothing if you don't want to watch your favourite movie, Kurt. It's perfect for both happy and sad occasions. So what's up?"

Damn that Rachel for knowing him this well.

"I'm just unfocused, and the movie deserves my full attention if it is to be watched," he says haughtily, hoping she'll buy it.

Of course she doesn't.

"And what has you so unfocused?" she teases, trying to make him smile. "Boys? Or _a_ boy?" she winks, that awful, awful yenta.

"Nothing new has happened between Kevin and me," he says, because it really hasn't. He's just been thinking a lot.

"But?" she prods, and Kurt needs to stop thinking if she's developed an ability to read minds.

"I'm just being naïve and immature, daydreaming about Prince Charming sweeping me off my feet."

"And you deserve that," Rachel assures him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"We know that's just the Hollywood Love Story. Or the Broadway Version. Life As We Live It doesn't go like that," Kurt explains, patting her knee, and thinks about how the love of her life is still in Ohio. Not very Disney-inspired that romance either.

"When did you become such a bitter, young man?"

"I moved to New York and was served a portion of good old-fashioned reality," he says snarkily.

"Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, I forbid you to stop dreaming at the tender age of 20!"

"I still have dreams and ambitions, thank you very much, and you of everyone should know why I work so hard with both Parsons and Mood."

"I know, baby, I know, we share that ambitious drive. But you can't forget that we have a life outside our careers. Don't give up on your romantic life," Rachel coos, kissing his cheek. It reminds him of how Kevin often kisses him after a night at the theatre. Right now, he's having a sweeter moment with Rachel than he usually shares with Kevin. That should say something.

"Rachel Barbra Berry," he shrieks scandalized instead, "are you preaching about giving less than a hundred and ten per cent for your success?"

"Every success story has a strong partner who is supportive in the background," she says ruefully. "Besides, I need my arm candy for my red carpets, and someone to help me _relieve_ my stress," she winks.

"Oh my Gaga, stop, we are not discussing your sexual needs. I already have to deal with other of your… bodily fluids," he waves in the general direction of her stomach and below under the blanket. "Besides, I will be the one making sure you look great on the red carpet, wearing a Hummel Original."

"Of course you will, honey. I'll never wear anyone else. But I still think you need a happy home-life to be able to give your best by your drawing table and sewing machine."

"And I will have that. New relationships just take a lot of work to get there. That's all," he says. Rachel doesn't look convinced. He isn't sure he is either.


	5. Sexy Whirlwind

**Merry Christmas and other Appropriate Season Greetings, everybody!**

* * *

Blaine smiles hurriedly at a few familiar faces in his class who looks strangely at him, as he rushes into the room to take his usual seat. Unfortunately, he annoys a few as he has to squeeze past some of them to get to the free seat. Cooper had called just as he was about to leave the apartment, and that had been enough to juggle his rhythm and almost make him late for class. The most annoying thing was that Coop didn't even call about anything important. He just wanted to know how his apartment was doing. His apartment. Not his brother, not his parents in the miniscule chance that Blaine had talked with them lately, and not his studies and work. No, his apartment. Because apparently, according to the concierge, Blaine hadn't spent much time in the apartment lately, and Cooper was worried it was being neglected and not loved as much as it deserved. Blaine had managed to reassure him sufficiently, and tell Cooper his apartment got its fair share of TLC in between Blaine's busy schedules with school and work, and sometimes even an effort of a social life. That's what he calls it, when he takes time to explore New York and a grain of everything the city has to offer. He's usually on his own, still not feeling too close to any classmates or other potential friends to invite them along, but he's not going to wait around before he gets to know the city that is his new home. Maybe it's even the first place he really feels can be a home.

He opens his notebook and finds the Xeroxed articles the professor had wanted them to read before this lesson. Copying from books is usually frowned upon, but books are too expensive to buy when only 27 of the several hundred pages are part of the curriculum. Sure, Blaine could simply have read the pages in one of the library-books, but he's always preferred to have the material close by, in case he needs to re-read it at 3 AM. You never know, okay? Besides, he can't use his markers in books that are borrowed, and his study technique depends on highlighting dates and years in purple, good quotes that are candidates for his essays in pink, foreign words in blue, definitions in yellow, and other important things in green. Then he'll add key words, initial thoughts or comments in the margins with his red pen.

Yes, his studies often look like crayons exploded on them. But it works for him. It makes him learn things more easily and efficiently, it makes everything more organized when he returns for information later during essay writing and late night cramming before exams, and being surrounded by bright colours can never hurt the spiri.

He picks up his block of colourful and star-shaped post it-notes from his satchel. Hunting book shops, misc stores and eBay for funny office supplies is his thing. The next little sheet of paper is sky blue, and he peals it off to dot down the to do-list for the next few days which he mentally conjured while running to school.

_1) Find a gym_

_2) Polish ballet shoes_

_3) Buy dance belt_

_4) Add blister treatment to bag_

_5) Ask Mr. Parks about a few days off for gobble-day_

_6) Call home about Thanksgiving_

"Pay attention!" the girl next to him hisses at him, and Blaine startles, looking up. The professor is standing with his back to them, writing on the blackboard and giving the lecture that Blaine had truly been listening to, he's just good at multitasking, okay?

Then the professor turns around.

"In other words, you have two weeks to prepare this presentation," he says, underlining the date on the blackboard, and then tells them to go to page 147.

Presentation? What presentation? Shit!

He scribbles frantically down everything the professor says, assuming it'll be important for this unknown presentation of his. He'll have to figure it out, and he can't just walk up to his professor and admit he wasn't paying attention.

A crumbled note lands on his desk, and he looks up. The girl from earlier looks pointedly at him, so he unfolds the message.

_I'll tell you everything over coffee after class. You're buying._

He smiles in gratitude and relief at her, and when she clears her voice, he goes back to taking notes. Blaine is enjoying his Freshman year at Tisch, but it's also quite overwhelming compared to the calmer, more intimate life at Dalton. It's a lot getting used to, and on top of that comes living in a strange city. He thinks he's doing fairly okay so far, but he hasn't been able to make any connections he'd call friendships. Acquaintances and familiar faces, sure, but not someone to invite over to the apartment for dinner, to explore the city with, to meet on a Sunday for coffee, or who'd go see a show with him. So yeah, Blaine is kind of lonely. Some days it feels as if he's been talking more to his own mirror reflection than to any other person. And he misses someone who'll have an honest conversation with him, and not just exchange pleasantries by the register at work, or bitch in the locker room over how rough the latest dance lesson was.

The professor finally dismisses them, and Blaine hurries to pack all his belongings in his satchel, without crumbling anything.

"Caramel latté, a large one, extra whip," the girl says as she saunters out of the classroom.

Wait, what? Where is she going? There are several places on campus to have coffee, how should he know where's the best place yet? He scoops the rest of his stuff up in his arms, and runs after her.

"Nice to meet you too," he says sarcastically as he finally catches up with her. She's walking fast. No wonder, with those long legs, although he's never understood how girls can keep their balance on such high heels. She towers over him, and he feels like a stupid, insignificant little Freshman. He tries to remind himself that she is in fact in several of his classes, she can't be that seasoned. But with the glare she gives him when he asks her to slow down, and the confidence that radiates off of her, it's difficult to believe himself. She's strangely intimidating. He looks at her from the corner of his eye, taking in the flurry of this astonishing girl. He knows most of his old friends at Dalton would easily label her as drop dead gorgeous, and not only because she's wearing a short dress that clings to her body and emphasizes her hourglass curves. There's something about her, and Blaine has never been so captivated by a girl in his entire life.

"Stop ogling," she bites without looking at him, and embarrassed he looks determinedly straight ahead of himself. "This temple is taken, and she doesn't like sharing. Find someone else to worship."

"Oh, no, I wasn't," he insists, too late wondering if it's an insult to insist he wasn't checking her out. "I'm gay too," he adds.

She gives him an obvious onceover.

"Figures, considering how you manage to transform even a mind-dumbing article about Gregorian chanting into a rainbow. I assume you remember my coffee order, because I'm going to get us a table," she says, stopping in front of a campus coffee bar Blaine hasn't visited yet. It's far from the buildings he usually spends his days, but he isn't about to object to her charges when he hopefully will be somewhat wiser about the upcoming presentation in exchange of a… Large caramel latté, wasn't it? With extra whipped cream.

The waiting line is long, and he kills some time checking his phone for texts and playing word feud against Wes, Thad and Trent. When that doesn't make the queue move any faster, he begins Googling gyms in New York. Stupid move, there are too many to choose between. It might be weird that he still wants to go to a gym, when he has dance classes twice a week, and acting classes four times a week that often get quite physical. But it's simply not enough. He needs to feel stronger, he needs to find back to his old boxing skills. And - and this he only admits to himself when he's feeling particularly sorry for himself alone in the apartment – he feels as if he hasn't quite the right body shape for some of his classes. They're headed on for ballet in his dance class, and he isn't exactly a classically built ballet dancer. He's shorter than some of the girls in his class – if he ends up having to dance with for instance his new coffee-date, he'll look ridiculous. But he's hoping that if he could look somewhat buffer, he'd compensate for his other shortcomings, so to say.

Finally, he can scan the room for the table which the fierce young woman picked for them, and offers her the latté and sits down with his own medium drip.

"I'm Blaine, by the way," he says, extending a firm hand towards her.

She looks at it, rolls her eyes, but takes it, giving him a surprisingly strong handshake.

"Santana."

Filling him in on what kind of presentation the professor had been talking about merely takes a quarter of an hour. The rest of the hour is spent talking about New York. Apparently, Santana has been living in the city for almost a year, but didn't start her studies until now. She spent last year doing various jobs and "figuring shit out." After Blaine goes back to the counter for a second coffee, he realizes Santana's been able to weasel a lot of information out of him, about Sebastian at Dalton, and about his hopes to be able to work as a performer. He's not sure if he's appalled by how easily she's pumped him for personal information or if he's happy about the prospect of a new friend. He's not going to run out of the coffee bar with his tail between his legs, for sure, so he sits down across of her again with the hot coffee.

She tells him some really funny stories from her earlier work places, but it's also depressing to learn about all the aspiring artists and performers she's worked with, serving breakfast specials and lunch deals shoulder by shoulder. New York is a city brimming with talented, beautiful, ambitious, dreaming young men and women who are fighting to get a chance on a stage. But most of them end up doing something else. Santana tells him about people who had graduated years ago from schools like Tisch and NYADA, and still couldn't get even a callback. It's dishearteningly.

"Hey, stop doing that," she scolds him, when his mind retreats into itself, and he finds himself ripping the empty coffee mug into tiny, tiny pieces. "We've hardly even begun. You're not allowed to give up already, Blainers. I know I am amazing, and if you keep hanging out with me, it might rub off on you."

"That… That would have been nice," he says awkwardly, thinking more about the prospect of meeting this fascinating girl again, than being influenced by her… uniqueness.

"You really need to loosen up, don't you? Tell you what, I'm hosting a Halloween party next week, and you should come. Britt-Britt wants us to go as Galadriel and Arwen. I'd let you hang out with us if you came as Pippin or Frodo," she smirks.

"I'd love to," he grins, ignoring the blatant insult for now. He suspects she might not mean much harm with it. He picks up his phone to scroll through his calendar. "But I can't," he sighs, taking in his upcoming schedule. "I'm working."

"So drop by when you're off. I know it's short notice, but you really don't want to miss out on one of my parties."

"My shift ends at 5 AM," he deadpans.

"What do you work as? Gigolo? Stripper?"

Blaine sits up straighter and shakes his head furiously.

"Don't look so shocked. One of my friends stripped in high school to help his parents pay rent and shit. Money is money. And you look fine. You know, for a Meinhardt Raabe."

"What's a Raabe?" Blaine furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

"Just fucking Google it," Santana says. "It's no fun mocking the uneducated. So, not only a stripper, but a dumb stripper?"

"I'm… I'm not a stripper," Blaine tries to object politely, not wanting to insult Santana's friend. "I work the register in a 24/7 grocery store."

"How thrilling," Santana drawls. "Oh, well, your loss, then. I'll give you ample warning before my next party, because I'm dying to know what kind of drunk you are. It'll probably be right before Christmas break to celebrate surviving the first semester."

He laughs at that.

"I'm looking forward to it?"

"If you're asking me, I'm not so sure you would, but I know I am. Give me," she gestures at his phone, and he watches in amazement as she rapidly enters her information among his contacts. "Okay, gotta go, my girl has booked a studio to work on a dance recital, and I love watching her stretch, if you know what I mean," she grins, winking naughtily, and saunters out of the coffee bar like a sexy whirlwind. If you were into that. Blaine looks at the time. He has class in five minutes. On the other end of campus. Shit!


	6. Second To The Right

**Merry Christmas, everybody! This is a little gift from me, an extra update. Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews I got for the last chapter! I haven't had time to answer them yet, being busy with the holiday, but I will get back to you. I hope you all are having some nice days, and if you're not I hope this chapter can be a nice distraction.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

"I dare you to say that again, Berry!"

"You heard me the first time, Santana Lopez, there's no reason to be rude," Rachel huffs, and Kurt can hear the dull sound of her marching flats approaching the bathroom, where he is currently standing shirtless.

She rips open the door, and within soon the tiny bathroom is crowded by two angry girls, bickering and yelling over his shoulder.

"Ladies, _ocupado_," Kurt huffs, and tries to see his own reflection in between the girls' in the mirror as he styles his hair, swallowing the embarrassment. Any kind of modesty and privacy went quickly down the drain when they moved together, and they've all seen each other in more humiliating situations than this. It still doesn't make him feel comfortable standing half naked in front of his friends, though.

"So that's what you've been hiding," Santana purrs, stroking a hand down his chest. "Getting ready for Kevin? I don't know what you're going for tonight, but those green tights must be a good start."

"I'm getting ready for me, and if Kevin likes it, that's simply a bonus," he says haughtily, and swats her hand off of him. He'd suggested they could coordinate costumes, but Kevin had deflected, saying something about not being all that into Halloween anyway, and weren't they getting too old for dressing up? It had made Kurt's costume choice easy; obvious, really. Sure, he's dressing up to have fun and do something good for himself, but if Kevin takes it as the polite passive-aggressive fuck you it is, then all the better. And if Kevin thinks his legs look amazing, Kurt isn't opposed to that either. It's nice to date someone mature and responsible, but that doesn't mean that Kurt is ready to let go of fun like this. There are quite a few battles in life he's willing to compromise on, but something as innocent and harmless as dressing up for Halloween is not one of them.

"Are you done soon, Kuuurt?" Rachel whines. "I need the mirror to finish my make up."

"Rachel, you're going as Elphaba. Your entire face will be green. What do you need a mirror for?" Kurt deadpans.

Rachel simply looks at him in the mirror, one eyebrow raised as if she's questioning his sanity. It's a facial gesture she's picked up from him. It's annoying how effective it can be thrown back in his face.

"Fine," he huffs. "I need to finish getting dressed anyway."

"Do you have much left?" Santana asks, and Kurt tries to think if that's a loaded question, but it seems safe to answer truthfully.

"Fifteen minutes tops," he shrugs, stepping aside to let Rachel attack her recently acquired green make up-selection.

"Good," Santana smirks. "Then you can fix the mess Rachel's made by not being a trusting friend and do as she promised," she spits in Rachel's direction.

"I can't do things you haven't told me to do!" Rachel shrieks, agitatedly painting a dark green stripe across her own cheek.

"I made you a shopping list and tacked it to our refrigerator with your stupidly big golden star shaped-magnet, so you should know it was important!"

"And I overslept, didn't have the time to even glance at the fridge before I ran out, and you never told me there was a message for me on it," Rachel valiantly defends herself.

"Girls," Kurt sighs. "Done is done, I'm sure we can fix this."

"Done wasn't done," Santana glares, and Kurt grabs her shoulder to escort her out of the bathroom. Rachel looks gratefully at him in the mirror.

"Why can't you do your own purchases? You claim this is your party; own up to it," Kurt admonishes, and accepts that Santana will stalk him into his bedroom while he finishes getting dressed.

"Because I'm the hostess, and needs to be here if anyone arrives early," she shrugs.

Kurt checks his phone. Mostly to see if Kevin's texted him about when he's coming, but also to see the time.

"You've told people to come at nine. It's almost an hour away, and none of our friends are rude enough to show up this early."

"And within that hour I need to finish decorating this joint, prepare the snacks, and get into my costume. Brittany will be here any minute to help me."

"Can't she buy your stuff on her way?" Kurt suggests as he pulls the tunic which he finished sewing last night over his head. The look Santana gives him when his head pops through the neckline makes him want to take the question back. "Yeah, you're right. I guess I'd better do it. But you're paying."

"Why? You can be my co-host," she smiles sweetly. Too sweetly to be Santana without an agenda.

"Because you're making me go out in public looking like this," he says pointedly, tightening his belt.

"You're the one who decided to go as Puck."

"I'm not Puck, and you know that," he huffs, adjusting the hat and running his fingers through the red feather.

He walks with quick, long strides over to the whole figure-mirror by their main door, to double check how he looks. Dark olive green tights, his brown Engelhart ankle boots, a belt he braided from some leather leftovers he found at work, the spring green tunic he has given a ragged, asymmetrical finish on sleeves and hem, and finally the hat with a feather he decided to buy in a costume shop instead of trying to find time in a hectic schedule to make his own hat for the very first time.

"Where do you keep keys and money in a costume like that?" Santana teases him, trying to pinch his ass. He swats her hand off, a second nature and much repeated action after living together for so long, and stands closer to the door to keep her away.

"It really isn't far, I'm sure I can manage to carry them in my own, well-manicured hands."

"Robbery happens everywhere. Take this, you can say it contains fairy dust, and you wouldn't even be lying," Santana offers, handing him a purple velvet pouch with sparkling brocades. "Don't mess with it, 'cause I need it for my own costume when you're back," she warns him.

Kurt rolls his eyes at her very limited amount of kindness, but doesn't say anything, and leaves with her money and shopping list in the fancy pouch.

The cow bell jingles playfully as he enters, and he picks up one of the shopping baskets from behind the door. Santana's list is long, and he mutters displeased under his breath.

He's lost in thought, trying to decide between silver napkins with orange pumpkins au naturel, or orange napkins with white cartoonish ghosts that look as if they are throwing temper-tantrums. Three beers in, their guests probably won't care, but Kurt still goes for style and class.

As he skims the shopping list to see what else he needs to get, he has a distinct feeling that someone is standing close to him. Thinking he's blocking the way, he automatically takes a step closer to the shelves to let them pass, but continues to read the list carefully. Maybe his awareness of his personal space was sharpened during McKinley, but it still feels as if someone is standing too close. So he takes a step to the left, and the feeling follows him. He takes two quick steps to the right, and the sensation remains. So he hurriedly spins around, coming face to face with the cute cashier, Blaine, who looks as if he's desperately trying to hold back laughter. Kurt quirks an eyebrow at him.

"You're Peter Pan!" Blaine beams.

"That I am. And you decided to be my shadow?"

"You lost me, and then I found you again," he says earnestly, face controlled in a sober expression.

"Well, you can't catch me and make me a man," Kurt winks, and moves slowly towards the shelves with canned food. For some reason, Santana wants loads of olives.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Blaine growls, and looks as surprised as Kurt feels when he turns toward him. "I'm so sorry," Blaine whispers, "I wasn't supposed to say that, like that."

"No problem," Kurt smiles reassuringly at him. "Isn't tonight a possibility to be someone else for a few hours?"

"Yeah," Blaine laughs awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head.

"So, working on Halloween?" Kurt says easily, trying to make the young man relax, as he loads the basket with spaghetti, raisins, marshmallows and green food colouring. Santana's shopping list doesn't make sense at all.

"Someone has to make sure the world doesn't collapse while the majority of the population gets high on sugar or scare themselves halfway to heart attacks."

"That sounds like superhero-talk," Kurt comments easily, and can't help but return the big smile Blaine gives him. He must have said something right.

"Maybe?" Blaine parries, trying to look mysterious, but he's mostly adorable, really.

"Is that what you would have been today, if you didn't already have this awesome green apron?" Kurt resists the urge to tug at the bow tied on Blaine's stomach. Kurt wouldn't like it if Kevin touched other men's clothes - unless for work, of course. So he keeps his hands firmly on the handle of the shopping basket, while he takes in how the apron actually matches fairly well with Kurt's tunic – although he would never ever be seen in either outfit on any of the 364 remaining days of the year.

"No," Blaine says solemnly, "I don't mix business with pleasure."

"Of course not," Kurt says equally calm, picking up a box of tooth picks. "So who or what would you be for a night of escape?"

"A friend of mine told me to go as a hobbit."

Kurt allows his eyes to roam over Blaine from head to toe.

"It can't be a very good friend, saying that," he says. "But, on the other side, I haven't seen your feet."

Blaine laughs loudly, but is interrupted by someone clearing their voice by the counter.

"Oops, duty calls," he grins, and skips over to the once patient and until now neglected customer.

"Good evening, Mrs. Gorzola, I'm so sorry I kept you waiting," he talks easily as he gets in position by his register, and Kurt continues to fulfil Santana's wish list. He fears she didn't give him enough money, and will have to pay some of this himself. He suspects she did it on purpose. That _bruja_. Sure, she's giving him a hopefully amazing Halloween, and he doesn't mind paying for his part. But she never asked Rachel and him before announcing the party to her friends, and he's spent the last two days securing his "room". With no possibility to lock the doors, considering they don't even have any, he's tried to store away as much as possible of things in his room that are dear to him. And that's time he'd wanted to spend on the school assignment he needs to hand in next week.

He scans the list quickly to see if he's forgotten anything, but he seems to have it all covered, so he walks over to Blaine, who is finishing a cigarettes-money-transaction. Kurt starts unloading his items in the basket on the counter.

"So, what will it be?" he asks.

"I beg your pardon?" Blaine asks, and it's so refreshing to talk with someone who uses their words, and not Neanderthalic expressions like "huh?" or "what?"

"If you're not able to be a superhero, and not looking like a creature of the Shire, what would your alter ego for tonight be?"

"I actually wouldn't mind being Robin Goodfellow," Blaine admits, and immediately begins explaining and excusing himself. "He's really a trick or treat-kind of guy, you know; be good to him or he's bad to you. It's something alluring about being able to do mischief for an entire night. And there's something about him I recognize…"

"I do believe in fairies, I do, I do," Kurt hums.

"If we didn't, it would be difficult to be a gay man wanting a relationship," Blaine deadpans, and Kurt snorts. "Anything more you need tonight?"

"Not for now, but you never know what The Party Hostess comes up with when I return."

"It's a good thing you have Monty's Corner Store, then, open 24/7. Your friendly cashier will be here until 5 AM. And my replacement is actually quite the sweetheart."

"Are you working the entire night, Blaine?" Kurt gasps.

"I only work nights," Blaine shrugs. "Usually two or three times a week."

"So you won't be partying tonight?"

"As I said, someone has to keep the wheels moving," Blaine shrugs again, accepting Kurt's card to pay.

"But when do you get to sleep?"

"On the subway back home," Blaine grins, as if it's the most logical and intelligent solution in New York. Isn't he afraid of being pickpocketed?

"Don't you live around?" Kurt asks curiously.

"Chelsea," Blaine says, looking busy at the purchases he loads in two bags for Kurt. Kurt whistles impressed.

"And you're working in Bushwick? I'm sensing a good story here," Kurt smiles. "But sadly, my devilish roommate is most definitely waiting impatiently for this," he gestures at the bags.

"So where do you live?" Blaine asks as Kurt is about to turn and leave, bags in his hand.

"Second to the right, and then straight on until morning," he winks.


	7. Finding The Shadow

**Happy New Year, dear readers! I hope 2014 will be a magical year for all of you!**

**I've had a busy holiday, but finally everyday routine seems to be back, and I can devote more time for fanfic and Glee again. Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews and feedback I get for this story, I'm so happy for all the reviews, followers and favourites I get for this piece!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or anything you might recognize.**

* * *

When Kurt returns to the apartment he shares with the two girls, he's honestly flabbergasted by the effect of the few additions made. Santana has been truly busy while he was away. He glances at his phone, and realizes he was gone for almost an entire hour. No wonder the apartment looks transformed.

Their heavy door is already difficult to open, and squeaks in objection. It's the perfect haunted entrance for a Halloween party. But apparently it wasn't enough for Santana, who's added blood red finger trails down it's entire length. As Kurt walks through the door opening, a spray of something hits him from both left and right, but he isn't able to see anything on his clothes, no matter how meticulously he checks.

"There you are!" Brittany beams, and takes his arms to skip around in a happy spin, not even letting him put down the shopping bags.

"You look beautiful," he says and hugs her carefully to avoid knocking her in the head, and then heads for the kitchen with the purchases he made for Santana. She goes through the bags, muttering something in Spanish about some of his choices, and he just rolls his eyes. Rachel hands him a glass of red wine, and he sips at it while he takes in the decorated apartment.

The ceiling is draped loosely in fake spider web, and a huge raven is hanging from their lamp. She's tacked plastic spiders on one of the walls, marching together in the same direction, and their apartment is glowing in a warm, flickering light from the dozens of orange candles she's lit on every available surface. The snack table is protected by a full-size plastic skeleton chaperon, which for some reason is wearing a bright pink tutu. Kurt suspects it's Brittany's touch.

The three of them spent last night preparing the snacks. Regular potato chips and assorted candy are served in plastic pumpkin buckets which kids use when they go trick or treating. But they also have season-appropriate themed snacks. Kurt made biscuits that look like fingers, with almonds for finger nails. Santana rolled and coloured marzipan to the shape of eyeballs. Rachel made spiders of oreo cookies and pretzel sticks for legs. Santana then disappeared to her room, snickering, with a bag of clinking bottles, and the result is now presented on the snack table. She's made a really gross-looking punch, with all kinds of oddly shaped candy floating in it. And then there are what must be shots in sets of test tube vials. While Santana prepared the bar, Kurt made mummy-dogs; tiny hot dogs wrapped in stripes of dough to make it look like a mummy. Rachel's second contribution was oranges, where she drew all kinds of facial expressions on them with a black marker.

"Okay divas, let's crank up the music and show Bushwick how to party!"

"They still remember the last party you threw," Rachel sights, "and not fondly."

"Jealousy doesn't look good on anyone, not even if they are already green" Santana shrugs.

She turns off most of their lamps, and lights a few which Kurt hadn't noticed were turned off. And now he discovers that she's replaced the usual light bulbs with black light. The drinks in the test tubes are glowing, and so are some weird spray patterns on the girls' clothes.

"What's that supposed to be?" he asks, pointing at a concentrated spot on Rachel's clothes.

"It's fun," Santana interjects in explanation. "And you've got it too."

Kurt looks at his clothes, and she's right.

"Is that what happened when I entered the door?"

"Yup. The censor sprays anyone who gets too close."

"Why?"

"Are you really asking me to explain the technicalities, Hummel?"

"No, I wonder why you put it up."

"Why do I ever do the things I do?" she smirks, and saunters over to the speakers, fidgeting with Rachel's laptop and a playlist.

"Only God knows, and she's too scared to think closely about it" Kurt sighs, and drains his wine glass.

"Where's your dolphin, Kurt?"

"He's still working, Britt, so he won't be here until later."

"Well, then Santana will have to share me with you. I'm almost a fairy tonight, and Santana says you're into fairies."

"_Off with their heads!_" Santana yells, and the room is filled with loud music and familiar voices.

"Do you have every performance we ever did with New Directions?" Kurt asks Rachel.

"It comes in handy at the most unsuspected occasions," she says, and skips over to Santana to see what she remembers of their old choreography.

Not long after, their first guests arrive, in more or less creative costumes. They had fought over the theme for quite a while, because both Santana and Rachel were adamant on which costumes to wear. So how do you combine Wicked and Lord of the Rings? The compromise had been _On stage or on screen_. Kurt had hoped for something more specific to narrow things down, but then the comment from Kevin about Halloween being childish had made Kurt's costume choice blatantly obvious. Peter Pan it was.

Their apartment is filled with a mix of friends, acquaintances and strangers as far as Kurt sees it. It's not easy to navigate in the crowd, and not much of the floor is unoccupied. He assumes Santana and/or Rachel know them. He's downed two of Santana's test tube-shots, and as expected, they are strong. That's why he's taking it slower with a glass of gross-looking punch, while standing in a corner and silently judging the costumes. One boy is covered in cereal boxes with knife wounds and red fake blood. Serial killer. How clever. As expected, there are a lot of Broadway costumes among Rachel's friends, while Santana's friends are a balanced mix of Broadway and Hollywood. Not many of Kurt's classmates are here, and he thinks it's because they were invited to parties closer to Manhattan. But his usual study group is here, and they have obviously taken their time preparing the handmade costumes.

Kevin texted him forty minutes ago, telling him he was on his way, and Kurt is getting impatient. He wants his… plus one to be there, so he has someone to dance with, someone who will enjoy all the comments he's stored up for the crappy costumes, and someone who maybe will want to come with Kurt to his room to make out for a while.

Brittany has managed to pull him out on the appointed dance floor, when he notices him. He waves at Kevin, who nods at him, and strides directly for a drink.

"Go get him," Brittany smiles, pushing him gently in the right direction. It doesn't take long for someone else to snag Brittany for a dance, so Kurt doesn't feel guilty for abandoning her. Not that she's ever been much of a wall flower. But still. Kurt's a gentleman, even to bicurious girls.

"I'm glad you're finally here," Kurt says sweetly and slides up next to Kevin.

"Hey Babe," Kevin greets, giving him a quick kiss on his cheek. Kurt smiles, even though he hates being called Babe.

"You can use my room to change into costume," Kurt offers, knowing Kevin comes straight from work.

"Oh no, that's okay, I'm already dressed."

"You are?" Kurt takes a step back to take in Kevin, and Kevin gives him a spin. When Kurt doesn't react, he tugs at something around his neck which Kurt didn't see at first glance. It's a scarf made of tiny paper colour samples from a paint shop. They're all in greys. "What are you?"

"_Fifty Shades of Grey_!" Kevin grins proudly.

"Seriously?"

"It's clever," Kevin insists.

"No, it's lazy for a fashion designer who works with costumes. And you're no more than 27 shades at the most," Kurt argues, after a rough counting.

"Come on, Kurt," Kevin whispers, stepping closer to keep the conversation private. "You know I think Halloween is childish. Let's get drunk, but not too drunk, because I don't have morning classes tomorrow, and brought an overnight bag," he winks.

"You're welcome to sleep on the couch," Kurt says, not too kindly. They haven't reached further than some heavy making out in Kevin's sewing corner in the theatre so far, and Kurt doesn't feel in the mood to change that today. Being called childish is so not his kind of foreplay.

"I just don't understand why you couldn't wear a proper costume for me," Kurt mutters.

"Kurt, I work with clothes and fittings and sewing and adjustments all day. It would be nice to have a night of fun and no business."

"I'm sorry," Kurt mumbles, studying the tips of his shoes. "It's just important to me. I work with the same things as you do, and I had fun preparing this," he mutters, tugging at his tunic.

"We have to grow up some time, you know, Babe, especially after graduation."

"Not I," Kurt says teasingly, looking pointedly at him.

"Even you. Now come on, Robin Hood, let's dance."

* * *

Santana's drinks taste delicious, and it's fun to drink something that glows in the dark. Kurt thinks maybe he's nuclear. Or maybe Peter Pan's moon is illuminating through him. His skin is so pale, it's a wonder it isn't reacting to the light bulbs. He swallows eagerly of his wine, and sways slowly to the music. He should probably move faster, considering it is AC/DC playing, but his feet aches.

"Where is Kevin?" Rachel asks, wrapping her arms around him from behind, swaying with him. "Look, I'm your shadow!" she then squeals into his right ear.

"I don't know where he is," Kurt mumbles, leaning into Rachel. She's a good friend. She understands that he's Peter Pan, and that Peter Pan needs his shadow. But Rachel isn't his shadow. "Did you know that Blaine works until 5 AM?" he muses loud enough for her to hear.

"I didn't!" she exclaims scandalized. "Who is Blaine?" she then adds confused.

"He's my true shadow."

"But you have to be with your true shadow," Rachel insists, and Kurt giggles.

"Maybe I should find my needle kit, so I can sew him back on," he snorts, and imagines having a class at Parsons which teaches you to sew humans together. How ridiculous. You can't just sew people together, leaving them stuck with each other, without making sure it's okay.

"Do you think Kevin would mind?" Rachel asks, and wow, is she reading his mind or something? Of course Kevin would mind if Kurt sew Blaine to him permanently. He would, wouldn't he?

"I don't know," Kurt shakes his head sadly. "I should go ask him."

"You do that," Rachel agrees, and pushes him so hard he almost stumbles, some of his wine sloshing over the rim.

He looks in every corner and hiding place of the apartment, until he finds Kevin sitting on Santana's bed, talking with some of Brittany's dance friends. They seem to be discussing the latest program of _So You Think You Can Dance_.

"I'm not much of a dancer," Kevin admits, "but I enjoy watching, and am easily impressed by the participants."

Kurt snorts, because he has quite a few sore toes that can testify to that. Kevin doesn't know how to move his feet at all. Pity, Kurt loves to dance, and back in Lima he'd daydream about one day meeting a boy bold enough to be with him and dance with him.

"Hi," Kurt waves awkwardly when they look in his direction by the sound of his audible outburst.

"Oh look, it's the Hulk!" Kevin greets him.

"No, I'm… Never mind," Kurt slurs. "Do you mind if I visit my shadow?"

"Are you drunk, Kurt?"

"I think so."

"That makes sense. By all means, go visit your _shadow_," Kevin laughs.

Twenty minutes later, Kurt stops abruptly in the doorway, and giggles loudly. Blaine was dancing with a broom, but looked up when the cow bell signalled Kurt's arrival.

"Hello Peter," he smiles, "how may I help you?"

"I lost my shadow," Kurt gestures dramatically, almost upending the pumpkin bucket with snacks he brought for Blaine.

"Aww, I'm so sorry to hear that," Blaine coos. He leans the broom against the shelf with toiletries, and walks over to Kurt. "You should look for him."

"Excellent idea," Kurt nods, and starts walking down the aisles. Blaine follows him, barely two feet behind. In front of the yoghurts, Kurt turns his head and winks exaggeratedly at him, before leading him back to the counter.

"Thank you. I've had several identity crises tonight. Can you believe someone called me Yoda or The Grinch?"

"Shame on them," Blaine smiles at him, leaning against the counter. "So, what's with the bucket? Are you out trick or treating? Because if you are, I'll have to say trick. I don't think Mr. Parker would be too happy if I gave away candy from his shelves, and I don't have any more with an expired date to offer you."

"It's for you, dummy," Kurt giggles, shoving the bucket closer to Blaine. "It's not fair that you have to work on Halloween, so I'm bringing the party to you. Besides, you already gave me chocolate, so now it's my turn."

"Is that so?" Blaine smiles curiously, leaning a tad closer.

"Yes," Kurt nods eagerly, bending further over the counter, shoving the bucket in front of him, both of them closer to Blaine. "Satan made these awesome shots, but I was afraid of spilling them on my way here, and that would make such a mess, and I didn't know how I'd bring soap and a rag just in case, and…"

"It's okay, Kurt," Blaine says, placing a comforting hand on top of his, "I shouldn't drink while I'm working anyway."

"Ooh," Kurt hums. "I didn't think about that. I'm so stupid."

"You're not stupid," Blaine squeezes his hand comfortingly. "It looks as if you're having a great party. And it's very sweet of you to think about me at…" Blaine takes a moment to check a pocket watch, "almost 3 in the morning."

"Of course I do. You're my shadow!" Kurt beams.

"Well, I'm honoured. Did you make any of this?" he asks, looking at the content of the smaller sized bucket.

"I made piano fingers," Kurt wiggles his fingers.

Blaine picks one up from the bucket, and bites off the first knuckle.

"Mmm, delicious," he grins, wiggling his eyebrows.

"I should go back to the party. I hear it's considered poor hostage to leave your own party before the guests," Kurt sighs.

"I don't think it's called hostage in that setting, Kurt," Blaine grins.

"But you understand me, because you're my shadow."

"That's true. Is it safe for you to walk back alone, though?"

"Captain Hook isn't here, Blaine, he's in Neverland," Kurt deadpans, wide-eyed. "I'm safe as long as I don't fuck up the elevator."

"Well, then I suggest you don't fuck up the elevator," Blaine laughs.

"That's a really good advice, Blaine. You're intelligent," Kurt says seriously.

"Can I give you one more advice, Kurt?" Kurt nods, so Blaine continues. "Promise me you'll drink two big glasses of water when you get back home?"

"I'll try," Kurt swears solemnly.

"Wait, I have a better idea," Blaine interjects, and jogs over to the fridge. "Here, drink this bottle on your way home, okay?"

"I didn't bring any money," Kurt says sadly.

"It's a gift," Blaine assures him, "as a thank you for the snacks."

"That's so sweet of you," Kurt takes a large gulp of the water. "I'm drinking for you, Blaine. For you and for eternal youth."


	8. Please Don't Hate Me

**It's so much fun getting your reviews for this story, and I sometimes wish I hadn't already completed writing it before publishing, because sometimes you give me the best ideas for what should happen next. But I hope you can live with my initial plot lines as well.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or anything you might recognize, but I'm happy to borrow and play with them.**

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For some reason, Monty's Corner Store acts as if it suddenly was transported to rush hour, and Blaine can't remember ever having such a busy shift. Initially it was a pleasant change from the usual pace, but after an hour of feeling inadequate and a step behind everything, he's bugged out by it. The queue in front of the register seems endless, and there are all these questions from people who can't find that particular brand of canned tomatoes they bought some time last year ("I'm sorry I can't help you, I didn't work here last year, so I don't know if we've changed our tomato-supply source"), who wonder why they can't have three chocolate bars for the prize of two when that was on offer last week ("last week we had a special Halloween-offer, but I'm sure there will be new offers closer to Christmas, Miss"), if he happens to have the newspaper from two days ago ("I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I'm afraid we've returned those"), and the best ones are those who asked if he could suggest anything for dinner. The last thing he wants to think about when his stomach is growling, is food. Which is fairly difficult when you work in a grocery store, but at least he doesn't want to imagine menus and dinner options on top of it.

Blaine is beginning to feel the stress of combining school and work. Today, he had a late rehearsal with his song instructor to begin preparing one of his exams before Christmas, and he had an even later meeting with the Christmas Concert-committee he's lucky enough to be a part of. As a Freshman, it's an honour to be involved in something as important as that concert. He was Student President his Senior year back at Dalton, and he loves organizing and coordinating, pulling all the tiny details together to an impressive whole. But still, he's only a few months in his first year at Tisch, and he had no expectations when he applied. But his ideas and eagerness to participate had been appreciated, and he'd been accepted as part of the committee. Even if he'll end up simply cutting out red cardboard hearts, he'll still be happy. He'd worried he'd be lonely in New York, and drown in the big city. He'd worried he'd be simply average, plain and bland at Tisch, after standing out as lead singer at Dalton. But Tisch has treated him well so far, even though he didn't exactly live the classical social student life. But it was getting better, and he was determined to stay optimistic.

As he left school earlier today, he had coordinated the next study group-session over text messages, which had been quite a challenge. Santana was sulking over this or that, and didn't cooperate to her usual standards, which he by now had learned normally weren't that high to begin with. But he'd also learned to appreciate the girl in all her fierceness and no nonsense-attitude, and she was quickly becoming one of his closest friends in school. They'd often sit next to each other in classes, they organized study groups with some of the other students, they regularly met for lunch or coffee in between classes, he was introduced to her quirky girlfriend Brittany who he was still trying to decipher, and they'd exchanged phone numbers. Santana would sometimes send him scatching comments on clothes she observed on campus and found particularly old-fashioned and unacceptable. Usually, it was what Blaine wore. Sometimes, she'd send links to music he needed to hear, to quote unquote broaden his musical horizon. And sometimes, she'd send short movie clips of Brittany dancing while Santana watched her rehearse. Her pride and love for Brittany was obvious, no matter how cool and carefree she tried to portray herself, and Blaine envied her. He wanted a romance like that for himself. Someone to be proud of and someone who'd be proud of him, regardless and unconditionally.

When he came home to Cooper's apartment, he realized he'd forgotten to close the refrigerator door completely when he left in the morning. So instead of the quick dinner before leaving for work he'd planned, he spent the next hour throwing away every single item after the better safe than sorry-philosophy, and then scrubbing the fridge just in case. Then he was forced to run to the subway to avoid being late for his shift, and in the rush he forgot his wallet. Thank goodness his metro card was still in his back pocket from earlier.

So tonight he's tired, stressed, hungry and not his usual cheerful, polite cashier-self, and he really doesn't approve of himself. He's not up to par of his own standards; this is not a good enough representation of the Anderson work ethics.

To make it worse, Kurt The Gorgeous Customer has been walking aimlessly around in the store for the last fifteen minutes, and Blaine really wouldn't mind chatting with him about this or that. It would actually brighten his evening. After Halloween, Blaine had been so worried about him, knowing he was roaming the streets of Bushwick all by himself, far from sober. Anything could happen. Blaine had repeatedly beaten himself up over not having the decency to close the store for the hopefully short time it'd take to walk Kurt home. But by the time the idea struck him, like a thunderbolt, Kurt was already out of sight. Blaine knows, because he ran out of the store and out of the building, and looked in every direction. But no Kurt, and he had to leave the hopeless project, hoping everything turned out okay.

He wished he had the boy's number, so he could at least text him to make sure he came home all right, but he hadn't worked up the courage to ask for it yet. He didn't even know his last name, and to search online for a Kurt who probably lived in Bushwick was futile. Not a day went without Blaine thinking about him, and he'd even considered spending an afternoon in Bushwick to… To do what? Yeah, he didn't know either. Look for him in ditches or back alleys? Like some mash up of a Superhero and a Stalker? No, even Blaine knew there were limits. So he'd waited impatiently for his next shift at Monty's, and skimmed the local news for updates on gorgeous Peter Pan-lookalikes found killed.

To say that Blaine was relieved when he saw Kurt enter the store tonight, would be the understatement of the year. Blaine's creative imagination had developed quite a few scenarios of what could go wrong when walking alone at 3 AM under the influence. Even Santana had commented that he seemed distracted and jumpy. So when Kurt walked into Monty's, Blaine had to force himself to not run up to him, hug him, and tell him how happy he was to see him. But he'd assumed they'd at least get the chance to talk, exchange a few sentences, making sure he came back to the party all right. But with the amount of customers, and being alone on a night shift, because nights are supposed to be calm god damn it, it seems impossible to wedge in even a single word to him. It might be just as well, because he'd probably be all flustered around him by now. Blaine's having a terrible hair-day, and not even the big apron could save him when a jar of blueberry jam fell down from a shelf crashing on the floor next to him. His mustard-yellow pants are covered in purple splats. Why didn't he wear black jeans or something equally dark today?

In the end, Kurt catches his eyes and waves a goodbye as he leaves.

Fuck.

The next six hours of Blaine's shift are going to be torture of missed chances.

It's just passed midnight when the annoying cowbell startles him, almost making him drop the jug of water. He can't understand why Mr. Parker insists on having that damn noisemaker in the store.

"Just a minute!" Blaine calls from the backroom. With the store finally devoid of customers, he'd taken the opportunity to head back and make himself a pot of coffee. Goodness knows he'll need it to get through this shift on an empty stomach. He doesn't feel comfortable eating any of the food in his workplace, especially not when he can't pay for it until the next time he's working. If he forgot, it'd mean he stole from his boss, and that's unacceptable.

He double checks that the coffee maker is actually on, and leaves the backroom somewhat lighter, knowing he'll have coffee ready in ten minutes.

"You're back!" Blaine greets the customer surprised, excited, happily.

"That I am," Kurt says. "I was hoping it would be calmer by now."

"You don't like crowded rooms?" Blaine asks nonchalantly, but a colony of butterflies is lazily stretching their wings in his stomach.

"It makes it more of a challenge to have a nice conversation," Kurt shrugs, resting his chin in his hand, and elbow prodded to the counter.

"So how are you, Kurt?" Blaine asks, and removes a pen from the counter to keep his hands busy. At least it looks better than to fidget with his apron straps or bite his knuckles to prevent himself from taking Kurt's hand in his.

"I'm embarrassed," the young man blurts out.

"Okay… Why would you be that?" Blaine discreetly checks him out, and he can't fathom why Kurt would feel that way. He looks immaculately, he's always had excellent posture and manners around Blaine, and Blaine simply can't imagine a scenario where Kurt would make a fool of himself.

"Remember Halloween?" Kurt asks, hiding his face in both hands.

"Of course." It was only last week, and it had been a fun shift. It's not every day you get to serve bandits, cowboys, belly dancers and scary clowns. Or talk with Peter Pan. Especially that. Even if his drunken departure left you sleepless and worried.

"I came here to visit you late at night," Kurt whispers into his palms.

Oh, so is he embarrassed for leaving his party? Had he gotten into any trouble when he came back?

"Did… Are you…" Blaine doesn't know what to ask and how to ask it.

"Blaine," Kurt pleads desperately through his fingers, so much emotion in that single syllable. "I came to your workplace, drunk as a fool, and it must have been so awkward for you."

"Oh Kurt," Blaine smiles, and pries his hands off his face, holding them gently to make sure Kurt can't hide again. "You don't have to worry about that. I'm glad you came to visit. You brought me a slice of Halloween when I had to work. I thought it was kind of… endearing."

Kurt looks up, blushing.

"Endearing?"

"You seemed so captured in the spirit of Peter Pan, and I enjoyed seeing you so happy and…" Blaine stops himself before he says something that will truly be embarrassing. Like beautiful, or stunning, or playful, or tempting, or any other adjective he should most definitely keep to himself.

"So you're not upset with me, or humiliated, or mortified by your returning customer?"

"I'm not," Blaine promises with his right hand above his heart. Kurt snorts at him, and that's how Blaine knows they are fine.

"I've been here every day to see if you were working, but I really don't know your schedule. I'm glad I finally found you, so I could apologize and clear the air."

"There never was any reason to apologize."

"Still, I've made these Please-don't-hate-me-cookies, and I'm glad I can give them to you at last," Kurt says, and brings a plastic container from his satchel. It smells delicious. "They are of course not from Halloween, I've made new cookies each afternoon in the hope of finding you."

Kurt places the container on the counter and peals off the lid. The smells of freshly baked and chocolate and cinnamon and something else swirl straight into Blaine's nose and down to his furious stomach.

"God, I love you!" he blurts out.

Kurt looks at him for a second, and smiles crookedly.

"So I guess the please-don't-hate-me-cookies work, then?"

"I'm sorry," Blaine chuckles, "it's just that I'm starving, and you're kind of a lifesaver right now."

"Well, now I'm really glad I decided to come back one more time tonight."

"Do you have time to stay?" Blaine asks eagerly. "The coffee should be done in the backroom, if you drink coffee?"

"Do I drink coffee?" Kurt scoffs. "Does Alexander McQueen make okay clothes? Do you have any other stupid questions for me?" he asks playfully.

"I hope black is okay."

"I guess you don't happen to have a grande nonfat mocha back there. But black goes to everything; I'll manage."

Soon after, they are both leaning on the counter with hot coffee mugs in their hands and the cookies between them.

"Eat," Kurt encourages, "you're not going to die from starvation on my watch."

Blaine blushes, but helps himself to a third cookie.

"They are so delicious," he moans around a mouthful.

"My roommates will be so upset you were here tonight," Kurt admits. "They've been fed cookies for the last five nights," he adds with a smirk, laughing at Blaine's confused expression.

A few times, they are interrupted by late night customers who drop by for that gallon of milk for tomorrow's cereal, a box of condoms, toilet papers, or other emergency purchases. But for the next hour they are mostly alone, sipping at their second mugs of coffee and talking about whatever comes to mind.

Finally, Kurt's yawning frequency is too frequent to ignore, and he decides to retreat to his apartment.

"Who knows, maybe I'll even manage to sleep a few hours without Ambien tonight."

"Are you having sleeping problems? You should have told me, I didn't mean to boost you with all that caffeine right before bed. I didn't think that far, I should have realized not everyone needs to be perky and present in mind until 5 AM…"

"Don't worry about it, Blaine," Kurt rests a warm hand on his upper arm. "I've tried everything to fall asleep, including cutting out my coffee. It still doesn't help. So Ambien it is."

"Oh," Blaine says sadly, because he's always been good at falling asleep whenever he has the possibility, and he can't imagine how horrible it must be to not get enough sleep even when you're tired and just want to close your eyes and disappear. "Well, I do wish you sweet dreams. And thank you so much for the cookies, they were delicious, and I refuse to share with your roommates."

"Stay alert," Kurt laughs at him, and gives him a little wave as he leaves the tiny grocery.

Blaine had accidentally and as a joke told Kurt that he loves him. It may very well be on its way to be the truth, he realizes as Kurt leaves.


	9. A Night At The Theatre

**Well hello there, my fabolous readers! I hope you're all doing fine, and are ready for a new chapter of this story? As always, I love hearing your feedback and thoughts.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, someone obviously wasn't being good enough before Christmas...**

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_I'm here._

Kurt watches the animation on his phone screen signalling the message is sent, and carefully leans against the brick wall. He's truly tired after a long day in school and then a hectic shift at Mode. He wanted to go home and cuddle with Bruce, his faithful and patient boyfriend pillow, before conquering his homework. But then he'd gotten a text from Kevin, asking if he'd want to come over to the Al Hirschfeld Theatre, and hang out.

And the thing is, no matter how much comfort there can be to Bruce, he can never beat a boyfriend in the flesh. So maybe Kurt should make an effort with Kevin, try to move them towards something more certain and committed. Maybe Kurt needs to work on his priorities, if he truly wants a boyfriend. Someone to plan romantic dates for, someone who makes cute gestures for Kurt, someone to spend the evening with, someone to take out for late Sunday brunches, someone to take home for Thanksgiving, someone you'll spend weeks trying to find the perfect Christmas gift for because they deserve nothing but the best, someone to take to a Broadway show, someone to cuddle with on a cold winter morning, someone to meet for lunch between classes, someone special who thinks Kurt is equally special.

Everyone says relationships take hard work, and it's about time that Kurt invests time so what he has with Kevin can progress from flirty texts, making out and costume repairs. Kevin is a really great guy, but they haven't gotten far in this courting or whatever it is, because of clashing schedules. There are several qualities to Kevin that Kurt thinks he wants in a boyfriend, after having dated Chandler. Kevin, who's mature and intelligent, serious about his job, passionate about his work and his hobbies, handsome, radiates a calmness that Kurt is drawn to when his life is usually filled with divas, and is interested in Kurt. He makes Kurt feel good, when he isn't being infuriatingly adult and refusing to dress up for Halloween, or when his late work hours make it difficult to meet outside the theatre. He also dances worse than Finn, but you can't get it all.

They haven't seen each other in a week, when Kevin was in Bushwick for the Halloween party. When Kurt came home after visiting Blaine, Kevin had been actually worried, because he didn't know where he'd gone. Apparently, Kurt had asked Kevin if he could go see his shadow, and Kevin had thought it was some drunken joke he didn't get, until he noticed Kurt was actually gone. He'd been so relieved when Kurt appeared, kissing him and holding him tight, and gently scolding him for doing stupid things while drunk.

Kevin had still slept on the couch, realizing Kurt was miffed by how he'd invited himself. Kevin had simply thought it was logical and practical to spend the night when he came all the way out to Kurt's place, especially "considering the nature of their relationship," as he'd said, without helping Kurt see any clearer what kind of relationship they have. Kurt said he could have asked, while Kevin simply assumed because he would have taken it for granted that Kurt would spend the night at his place if it got late. Obviously, they need to learn to communicate.

So that's why he's waiting by the back entrance to the theatre for Kevin to sneak him in, even though he should go home to work on his sketches that are due over the weekend. But he came to New York to get everything he could never have in Ohio, and that includes a satisfying relationship.

Kurt blinks at the sudden rush of bright light from where Kevin opens the door. The boy is beaming, and extends a hand at him. Kurt takes it, and Kevin yanks him flush against him.

"Mmm, it's good to see you," he smiles, and wastes no time kissing Kurt.

"Hello to you too," Kurt laughs, and turns to lock the door behind them. He does not want to get in trouble, if some crazy stalker snuck in to steal the lead's high heeled boots or anything like that, because Kurt and Kevin were too hormonal to remember the door.

"Always the boy scout," Kevin teases, and jogs down the corridor back to his work station.

Kurt walks with quick steps, his sensibly heeled boots clicking audibly in the echoing surroundings, but even with his long legs, it's impossible to keep up with Kevin. Fortunately, he knows very well where Kevin is, after earlier visits. Still, would it hurt Kevin to keep him company for those hundred or so feet, give them a chance to ask the other about their day? Kurt sighs. He shouldn't be this selfish. Kevin is at work, it's a bonus that Kurt can visit him during the performance, and they'll simply have to take advantage of a minute here and there within their respective hectic schedules.

Kevin sits by his desk with a red sparkling bustier.

"The strap broke before intermission during a rigorous dance routine, and they need it for the next scene," Kevin explains.

"Don't let me interfere," Kurt waves disarmingly, feeling guilty for thinking badly about Kevin. He moves some sequined dresses, feather boas and shiny stockings away from the only other chair in the room.

"This has to be an insult to the Union Jack," he groans, holding one of the outfits between two fingers.

"Not something the flag hasn't already gone through with Ginger Spice," Kevin mumbles with a needle delicately placed between his lips. He finally looks up at Kurt, and the bundle of clothes he's trying not to wrinkle in his hands. "Oh, you can just leave those on the chair, I don't need to work on them until tomorrow," he says.

Kevin seems stressed and distracted, so Kurt decides to let it go. He carefully drapes the clothes over the chair again, and moves to a clean corner to lean against the wall. He knows it is bad posture, and can practically hear Rachel paraphrase Cassandra July telling the wall is able to support itself. But Kurt's day has been long, his feet ache in boots that aren't properly walked in yet, and he just wants to sink down in a comfortable seat.

"There!" Kevin grins, yanking roughly at the strap to make sure it is stitched safely, and rushes like a whirlwind out of the room.

Kurt takes advantage of the opportunity to answer some texts. Rachel and he are hosting Thanksgiving dinner next week, and there are a lot to do. Balancing a compromise of vegan diet with the traditional menu is maybe the most challenging kitchen assignment Kurt's ever taken on. Fortunately, Hiram and Leroy are turkey people, so there are no questions about the main dish, and hopefully Rachel will decide to be able to eat most of the dishes Kurt's family is expecting. Kurt's not sure how they'll get seven people around their table. He loves both of his roommates, but it's almost a relief that Brittany and Santana are going back to Ohio for the holiday.

One of the texts confirms the travel plans for Rachel's dads. Their guests didn't manage to get seats on the same flight, so the Berry's are landing on Wednesday morning. Rachel has already planned a guided tour at NYADA for her parents, but promised to come back in the afternoon to help Kurt finish the preparations. Kurt doubts that'll ever happen, consider her boyfriend and his brother lands late in the evening. Finn is the only one who'll be sleeping in their Bushwick apartment. Their parental units have booked hotel rooms. Burt and Carole are coming from Washington Thursday morning, as they weren't able to get away from Congress-duties any earlier. But everybody is staying until Sunday, so they should have decent time to catch up and show their families what they love about New York. And then there's only one more month until Christmas, and a gloriously long break in Lima.

Another text is from Blaine about an outfit he spotted in the local gym so fugly that Kurt would have combusted from frustration. Twenty minutes later, he's gotten a text informing him that Blaine is now descending to Monty, and already misses the splendour of cell phone reception. Kurt quotes Tim Gunn from one of the latest episodes they had discussed apropos fugly clothes, and then texts him a good night slash good morning for when he's above ground later tonight after his shift.

Kurt has just finished texting Rachel that tofu turkey is out of the question, when Kevin returns with a tall stool.

"Crisis prevented," he smiles and places the stool across his own. "I don't need to do anything until curtains, and I thought you'd want something to sit on in between."

"In between what?" Kurt asks challengingly, one eyebrow raised.

"In between this," Kevin murmurs, and with a few long steps he's in Kurt's space, and pushes him up against the wall. He tugs at Kurt's bottom lip, and laces their fingers together. As he deepens the kiss, making it wet and rough with an eager tongue, he moves their linked hands up along the wall above Kurt's head. It tickles when he moans into Kurt's mouth, and Kurt tries to wiggle his fingers loose from his firm grip.

"I've got you where I want you now," Kevin hisses, moving even closer. He kisses Kurt wetly, licking across his mouth, and Kurt momentarily thinks about a slobbering Basset Hound.

Although Kevin looks nothing like a sad-eyed puppy with overgrown ears. He's tall, and normally built – neither slender nor chubby, neither built nor lanky. His dark skin looks even darker in contrast to Kurt's pale complexion. His eyes are simply kind, and he smiles a lot. That was what Kurt noticed about him first – how happy, carefree and smiley he looked. And Kevin had kept smiling at Kurt throughout the party when they met, and Kurt had simply given all the hateful people back in Ohio a big mental fuck you, and revelled in Kevin's attention. They'd talked all night, and Kurt had been flabbergasted that among all the young men at the party, Kevin had noticed him.

They'd exchanged numbers, but life kept them busy and separated, until they met again right after summer. From then on, they've tried to meet up as often as their busy schedules allow. A coffee here, a lunch there, watching a DVD at Kevin's while making out, and lately more and more often, meeting at the theatre. It's pleasant to spend time together, but they've never talked about what they are to each other. Kevin is cute, kind, an eager kisser, passionate about his job, can discuss fashion with Kurt until one of them are hoarse, and has said he wants to live and die in New York. He always dresses impeccably, and Kurt is convinced they'd have the best time together doing an all day shopping-marathon, if they could find a day they both are free, and Kurt's money account isn't as starved as it usually is. Kevin's black hair is cut short, and a silver edge is already developing along his temples. He's only three years older than Kurt, but he said premature greying runs with his family. Kurt doesn't mind. It makes him feel mature and grown-up, dating a man that actually looks like a man.

Except, he's not sure if what they do qualifies as dating.

Kevin lets go of his hands to run his fingers through Kurt's hair, and Kurt stops him. He does not want to look like a booty call on the subway back home. Kevin cups his face in both hands instead, cradling him and pushing him against the wall as he kisses him deeply. Kurt closes his eyes, breathes through his nose. He feels trapped, captured, but he has to get used to it. It's not Kevin's fault that Kurt isn't used to intimacy like this, and is lagging behind in experience and confidence.

"Will you come home with me tonight?"

"I have an early class tomorrow, and I didn't bring anything," Kurt says apologetically.

"Maybe you should have some of your stuff in my place?" Kevin smiles, and it makes Kurt's heart stutter. Leaving a change of clothes and toiletries, that's making it a serious relationship, right? That's taking it to the next step, that's progress, that's being boyfriends?

"Maybe," Kurt says haughtily, playing it cool while his intestines are revolting from joy and excitement.

Kevin pecks him one last time, and then moves over to his work table to clean it up for any potential amendments and repairs that need to be done when the performance is done.

"I've actually never seen _Kinky Boots_," Kurt muses. "Isn't it weird that you work here, and still we haven't seen it?"

"Oh, you haven't?" Kevin looks surprised. "I've probably seen it five times, not counting rehearsals. It's a great show, you should go see it some night," Kevin encourages.

Kurt doesn't know what to say. He's not fishing for free tickets, and he's man enough to ask Kevin out on a date. But Kevin doesn't work each night, so he could have taken Kurt to see the show some time. It would only be weird if Kurt asked him out to see the show where he works. But it doesn't seem as if the idea has occurred to him.

"You are still going to Boston for Thanksgiving?"

"Yeah, but I'll be back on Saturday. There are no performances during the holidays. Maybe we could do something on Sunday?"

"I'd love that," Kurt beams, finally feeling as if they are moving towards something that could be a real date. "My parents and brother are in the city, and I haven't seen them since summer, so I want to spend as much time with them as possible. Hey, maybe we could do lunch together on Sunday?" Kurt eagerly suggests.

"Together? Like, with your parents?" Kevin looks disbelievingly at him.

"I just thought it would be nice if you could meet? My parents and my…" Kurt doesn't know how to complete that sentence. He hopes Kevin will offer a suggestion.

"Don't you think that's a bit early, meeting your parents and your step-brother?"

It's been more than six months since they met the first time, and three months since they began this, whatever it is. Maybe it's still early to meet the parents, but it feels as if they are on overtime for some other things. Kurt just can't stomach that kind of conversation tonight, when he's already so tired. They need to sit down and talk properly about what they want, to see if their opinions and thoughts can align. Some day they are both well rested.

"Hey Kevin?"

The young man looks up from his sewing machine, and smiles at Kurt.

"What is it, Babe?"

Kurt swallows down the bile that grows at the nickname.

"You still have Mondays off, right?" There never were any performances on Monday, but sometimes the producer had a vision about a new costume that Kevin needed to work on. Kevin nods in confirmation. "Do you think we could spend the evening together?" Kurt will just have to reschedule his study group, because he needs to clear up time for this.

"Of course, Babe. I could make dinner and buy a new DVD?"

"Sounds great." Kurt gives him a small smile, partially because it's endearing how Kevin insists on buying any film he watches on DVD. And whatever the nature of their upcoming conversation, it'll be a good thing to keep it out of public.


	10. Working It Out

**Some of you missed Blaine in last chapter, and hopefully this can make up for it.**

**Thank you for all the enthusiastic feedback!**

* * *

Blaine weighed his options carefully, before making a decision. He found a gym in Bushwick, not far from work. It wasn't heavily equipped or had a wide range of group lessons. But it's open 24/7, and would be perfect for him on his way to or from work. And the monthly expense was almost half of what he'd pay at a gym not far from Cooper's apartment. It had better equipment, access to a personal trainer, and offered classes like zumba, spinning, jazzercise and yoga. But first and foremost, he missed boxing. He'd been thinking about joining classes to improve his cardio for the dance classes in school, though. What held him back, was the uncertainty of being able to commit himself to working out in between a hectic schedule. Would it be a waste of money, choosing the more expensive gym and committing economically to a year's membership? But if – no, when – he quits his job in Bushwick, it'll be such a waste to have his gym there. So wouldn't it be better to get acquainted with the neighbourhood gym right away?

In the end, money is the bigger issue for this student, and he signs up for a membership at the Bushwick-gym. If he proves to himself that he uses it frequently, he may later consider splurging on an upgrade closer to where he sleeps. No matter how optimistic he usually is, he's also quite a realistic guy when it comes to spending money.

It takes some discipline, but after two weeks he's established a routine where he goes to the gym on his way to work, and then spends his night shift freshly showered, but with sore and aching muscles. It gets better for each workout, though, and his body is reacquainted with forgotten moves, strains and techniques. It's quite liberating, actually, taking in the progress, feeling how more fluid his movements are after a couple of weeks, and how his boxing turns more and more away from thinking out strategy to just being in the movements. Noticing how some of his polo shirts sit a tad tighter over his arms doesn't hurt either.

Taking up his boxing isn't the only thing he does in the gym, though. He doesn't want to become that clichéd buff meathead with arms and shoulders wide as a barn, and a teeny-weeny Barbie-waist and toothpick legs. So he makes sure to keep his training balanced, not ignoring any major muscle groups. He's been jogging in Central Park ever since he moved to the city, just because it seemed like such a mandatory New York-thing to do. He didn't manage jogging very fast, though, because there were simply too much too see and take in for a wide-eyed new kid in town. The dog walkers with eight or ten dogs each, seemingly chaotic, but never any obvious incidents. The uniformed nannies, walking kids in strollers or watching anxiously as they play with other kids, worried something might happened to the toddler-heir of some rich mogul. Or so Blaine imagined when he spun stories about the people he passed.

But with Thanksgiving only a few days away, the weather isn't particularly jogger-friendly. His stamina will thank him come spring, after months running on the treadmill and sacrificing his ass on uncomfortable spinning-bike seats, with no picturesque views to distract him from going as fast as possible for as long as possible.

One afternoon, to his very pleasant surprise, he noticed Kurt on the elliptical machine. Blaine wasn't sure what the nature of their friendship outside of Monty's was, but he still walked over to say hi. Kurt had smiled in obvious recognition, raised an index finger from the handle in the universal "hold on a moment"-gesture, and gave his all for the last hundred feet to his imaginary finish line.

They'd talked while Kurt wiped the machine, drank half a bottle of water, and moved towards the weights. Kurt sat down by the same machine Blaine had been thinking about, so he stayed while Kurt showed what his thighs were able to do. Somehow, they developed a pattern where one would lift and the other rest, while debating a random, silly topic. While one did his repetitions, the other would present his arguments, and then they'd switch.

Both enjoyed the company, and learned that their efforts in the gym where more efficient and they pushed themselves harder when in company. That's how they exchanged numbers and agreed to meet once a week, to work out before Blaine went to Monty's. Blaine still worked three nights a week, and if it fit in with Kurt's schedule, he'd often meet him beyond that one standing gym-date they'd established.

Kurt didn't live far from the gym, so their shared path split when Blaine stayed in the locker room to shower and get ready for work, and Kurt left to take advantage of his superior water pressure back home, or so he said.

* * *

Blaine misses the old fashioned phones, so he could have slammed the receiver loudly down to abort the conversation. There is no satisfaction in fumbling with the slide button on the touch screen to cancel the call. But he'd done it anyway, for the first time in his life. It was bound to happen sooner or later, considering how his relationship with his parents has developed lately. Apparently, they hadn't believed him the first time he announced he would stay in New York for Thanksgiving, and had called to confirm his flight details and tell him about two dinner parties he was expected to attend. Again, he'd informed them that he was working, unable to get out of his obligations, so they'd have to parade Cooper around as the only successful son. He was better bragging material, after all, being straight and all.

He hadn't said all those things, of course, but he'd been thinking it, while keeping up his polite façade through the conversation, until his mother began talking condescendingly about his job, and how it wouldn't matter if he just up and left it all to spend the holiday with his family. That was the moment Blaine had gritted through clenched teeth that he was brought up to honour his responsibilities, and there was no shame in honest work. Then he'd ended the conversation, already on his way out of the door with his gym bag to burn off some steam.

On an impulsive streak, he'd texted Kurt about his impromptu gym plans, despite of it not being a work night. Kurt had said he'd be there, and he was. He'd taken one look at Blaine, nodded calmly to himself, and focused their by now traditional debate-lifting-weights-intervals on silly and harmless topics; like Botox, the merits of knitting versus crocheting, and limousines versus cabriolets.

Afterwards, they had coffee in the lobby to cool down.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Kurt had offered, and Blaine shook his head adamantly.

"The water pressure in our apartment sucks," Kurt had admitted out of nowhere. "But I can't stomach spending more time in locker rooms than I have to. So I run home like a coward."

"Kurt?"

Kurt had gone on to tell in detail about the bullying in high school. They had early on discovered their shared past in a homophobic Ohio, but not dwelled on specifics. Now Kurt volunteered stories, and it was the most personal and private he'd ever been with him. Clearly, their friendship extended past Monty's.

Some time during the conversation, Blaine had taken Kurt's hand between his, cradling it tenderly while Kurt emptied his heart. In return, Blaine had told him about the Sadie Hawkins dance, and why that made boxing and working out so important to him. So yeah, they had quite different stories and opinions of the gym, but they could still easily relate and understand each other. Blaine had missed having a friend that was not only sympathetic to what Blaine had gone through, but could actually understand both his past and how it shaped his present.

After the coffee, they'd hugged warmly, until Kurt groaned that he was all sweaty. Blaine had claimed his objection redundant, considering Blaine hadn't showered yet either, but he'd let go of him anyway. Hugging in public was easier in New York than in Ohio, but it still wasn't uncomplicated to him.

Even though that's only a few days ago, it feels as if their friendship intensified after that, with some random texting beyond planning to meet at the gym, and Blaine feels more committed to their gym-not-dates, and has begun hoping Kurt will pop by at Monty's when he's working.

Like he is today, for instance.

Blaine picks up the box labelled _Gobble_ from the backroom. Mr. Parker had asked him to decorate the store for Thanksgiving if he had time to spend during his night. Which of course he had; night shifts were never permanently busy, and Mr. Parker knew that. But his boss was also too polite to downright hand him extra tasks, and took the polite route by asking him instead.

Blaine pulls out long streamers of colourful leaves. Fake, obviously, but still fairly good replicas. Even though the store is low under the ceiling, he's lower on his legs, so he gets the stepladder to help him drape the streamers artfully across the ceiling.

Or, at least he attempts at making it look decent. He's never been very good at these things. He knows how he wants it to look, he has the visions. But he lacks the fingerspitzgefühl that in Tim Gunn's words would make it work.

He's standing on his toes, trying to tack one end of the streamers to the far corner, to hopefully cover as much of the ceiling as possible. The sound of the cow bell startles him so he almost falls off the ladder, but he manages to catch himself on the top handle just in time to regain some balance.

"Shoot," he mutters, his parents' disapproval of any kind of cursing still ingrained in him.

"You should really wear a helmet when on top of that," Kurt says calmly, and gives him a half smile. He's picked up a shopping basket.

"Hey Kurt!" Blaine greets him, ecstatic to finally see him again after a few Kurt-less days. "I'll just secure this, and I'll be with you in a second."

"No rush," Kurt waves him off with a grimace that seems quite off. He walks straight over to the Ben & Jerry-freezer, and looks at it ponderingly.

By the time Blaine is on the floor, Kurt has walked away from the freezer, and he can see three tubs of ice cream in his basket. And still he's loading it with popcorn, grapes, a cheesecake from the fridge, and two boxes of instant hot chocolate-powder.

"No tampons this time?" Blaine asks, aiming for amused, but not able to hide his frown at Kurt's uncharacteristic gloom. Maybe it's wrong to spy on the customer and notice his purchases long before he presents them on the counter to pay, but Blaine is simply being a attentive and considerate cashier, okay? Besides, Kurt isn't just a customer.

Kurt looks confused, though.

"The last time you did this kind of shopping, your roommate was on her period and you were sent on a mission for comfort food."

"Oh." Kurt's face briefly lights up when he remembers, but it quickly falls back to his earlier sad expression. "I don't need tampons. It's still comfort food, though," Kurt clarifies.

"I'm so sorry," Blaine says sincerely.

"For what?"

"Whatever makes you this sad," Blaine replies compassionately.

Kurt smiles crookedly at him. "I've invited myself as the guest of honour at the pity party of all pity. You should be more appalled than sorry," he admits ruefully.

"Not all days can be equally great. Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's stupid, really. It hasn't even happened yet."

"The pity party?"

"The potential reason for a suspected pity party."

"Ah. So it's a pre-emptive pity party?"

"Yeah. Get it all out now, so tomorrow will be easier. And I don't have time for any distracting pity parties closer to Thanksgiving," Kurt says soberly, but there's a hint of humour to his voice.

"Oh, but of course, it's important to be able to coordinate and schedule breakdowns."

"What makes you think it'll be a full blown breakdown?" Kurt says accusingly. Blaine looks pointedly at his brimming shopping basket. "Okay, okay, it's a little more than a broken nail or a pimple the same morning as a job interview."

"And I know how catastrophically that can be," Blaine says honestly. Unruly hair is one of his biggest fears before any audition.

Kurt smiles sweetly at him, and it's nice to notice the sadness disappear from his face for a brief while.

"But I meant what I said. I'm a good listener, if you need to vent." He picks up a bunch of colourful fake leaves and the doublesided adhesive tape. He plans to mount them to the transparent glass doors on the refrigerators and freezers.

Kurt takes the leaves from him, so both of Blaine's hands are free to coordinate scissor and tape. Kurt accepts a piece of adhesive, and tapes the reddish leave in front of the shelf of energy drinks.

"I've been kind of seeing someone," Kurt says, while he continues to work with the decorations.

Blaine tells himself he is happy to listen, while he cuts appropriate lengthy pieces of the tape. He shouldn't have expected the boy he is falling in love with to be single. He shouldn't have interpreted Kurt's kindness as flirting. But he can still try to be a decent friend.

"I don't know what to do," Kurt sighs. "I don't think what we have is what I want in a relationship. But I don't know if I should just end it, or work harder to see if it can be what I want. I don't know if I'm simply being a hopeless romantic with unrealistic dreams. And tomorrow we're meeting for _A Talk_," he says, gesturing dramatically.

"So tonight is about evaluating and contemplating?" Blaine says, offering a piece of tape.

"I guess. At least it would be if I could decide what I need to evaluate."

"Like what?" Blaine asks, brushing the tip of his finger over one of the leaves. He doesn't want to pressure Kurt, he doesn't want to make him feel as if he has to talk, and he doesn't want to make him uncomfortable by looking at him as if he expects an answer.

"I don't even know if we are boyfriends!" Kurt explains, arms raised in confusion. He gasps, backs away from Blaine, and holds his hand in front of his open mouth. He looks mortified. Blaine's heart aches at the sight.

"I know what you mean," Blaine says, trying not to move closer to Kurt, even though he just wants to reach out and hug him. "There was this guy in high school, and I really wanted to think of him as my boyfriend. But I knew I only fooled myself. It wasn't the kind of relationship I dream of, and he wasn't the kind of boyfriend I really want. But at least I learned a lot from him," Blaine says, and cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth. That sounded really dirty, and he only meant to say that Sebastian has made him more aware of what he looks for, wants and needs.

"Why didn't you leave him?" Kurt asks curiously. He looks so much more relaxed, and he steps closer to Blaine again. He extends a hand for more tape, and Blaine cuts more pieces.

"He wasn't a bad person," Blaine explains. "We had good times together. He was funny, good looking, we had some things in common we enjoyed doing together… Singing and dancing," he hurriedly adds at Kurt's mock scandalized expression. "Although, _that_ was fun too," he winks. "He made me feel good, he made me feel wanted, he made me feel like a normal teenager experiencing the dating life our straight friends took for granted in the narrowminded, homophobic Midwestern. It was a good learning experience. And now I know that I don't want my boyfriend to make me feel normal. I want him to make me feel special."

"That's really…"

"Naïve?"

"Blaine, no, I think you're right. You deserve to be someone's special one."

"You hardly know me," Blaine blushes, getting busy with the tape and scissor.

"I know enough," Kurt insists, tacking the leaf firmly on the glass door. "You're patient, kind, generous, funny, give good advice, and do a killer tango with the broom." Blaine's blush intensifies at the memory of Kurt walking in on him practicing before next day's dance lesson, sweeping the floor with a steaming tango.

"Thank you," he whispers bashfully. Not even Sebastian ever complimented him like that. Every little thing he praised was in the end about his good looks or his talented mouth.

"There," Kurt says pleased, and steps back to take in the results of his decorations. "Did you need help with those streamers? I've never seen any helmets for sale here, and it would be a shame to know I could have prevented brain damage to that cute head of yours."

Blaine grins at him. Kurt may or may not be seeing someone else, but it still gets to him whenever he says something sweet to Blaine. They bicker for a while about who's best suited to stand on top of the stepladder, and Blaine wins when he argues that his boss will not be pleased if his customer harms himself because of his Thanksgiving streamers.

"So have you seen the latest Vogue yet? I started reading it on my way home from school," Kurt comments as he hands him the end of a leafy streamer.

"Of course," Blaine scoffs. "I can never get too busy for Vogue. I think I'd go insane without some well planned time-outs with the magazine, to be honest."

They spend the next hour debating favourite articles, memorable covers and best skin care tips, and then move on to how New York called on them to escape Ohio. When the streamers are placed across the ceiling, they move their conversation to the counter, and Blaine brews them coffee in the backroom. He is usually the epitome of polite and helpful cashier, but tonight he finds himself upset with every customer that interrupts them for their useless purchases. Who needs chocolate and milk at midnight? And they should really have thought about needing more toothpaste way before going to bed.

When Kurt insists he has to leave, the three pints of ice cream are left melted in the trash, and Blaine will write it off as a malfunction of the fridge. Kurt doesn't look as if he'll need the entire cheesecake either, and Blaine is glad he is feeling better.

He still wonders what relationship status Kurt has in 24 hours, though.


	11. Two Different Worlds

Kurt hardly sleeps that night. He tosses and turns in his bed, thinking about moments he's shared with Kevin. He wishes there was an easy solution, but Kevin is too nice and interesting to be discarded as boyfriend material right away. And Kurt knows that he's responsible for his own happiness – if there is something in their relationship he isn't happy about, he has to do something about it, and not expect Kevin to be a mind reader or fortune teller. If Kurt doesn't like being called Babe, he has to tell Kevin. If Kurt feels insecure about where they are headed in the relationship, he has to be mature enough to ask the potentially difficult questions.

Okay, so they both have hectic schedules, and it's difficult to find time for dates, or simply hanging out. But there has to be solutions to improve that? Other people have time for studies, work and dating, so it's obviously a matter of priorities. Kurt could cut down on his Project Runway-marathons, and stop calling it study research. He could do homework at Kevin's, so they at least spend time in the same place. Maybe he could be willing to stay over now and then, and then they can go out for breakfast together. It would even save Kurt some of the valuable time he spends commuting. Maybe he could suggest they take up a hobby together to invest in their relationship? Maybe pottery? Or tennis? Or kite flying in Central Park?

Kurt thinks about all the things he doesn't like about Kevin. How he calls him Babe. How he is incapable of keeping his hands away from Kurt's hair. How he constantly makes out like a fourteen years old horny virgin, and how Kurt misses sweet kisses and simple cuddling. How Kevin didn't dress up properly for Halloween, even though Kurt tries not to feel petty about it. How Kevin doesn't want to meet Rachel and Santana, but then again Kurt can't blame him when he argues that he wants to spend the precious time they have just the two of them. How he thinks Lady Gaga is overrated and mass produced. How he didn't want to meet Kurt's family, and hasn't introduced Kurt to his, even though Kurt knows they've been in the city. But maybe they're not there yet, and maybe that's how it works. It's not as if they are engaged. He introduced his Dad to Chandler pretty soon, and maybe it's different when you're in high school and live under your father's roof. But Kurt needs and wants to introduce important people to his family.

Kurt thinks about all the things he does like about Kevin. His impeccable fashion sense, although quite different from Kurt's. His passion for his job. His intelligence and well-thought through opinions, whenever they get the chance to have an interesting discussion. His easy-going and confident nature, and how he never bats an eye at coming out again and again and again wherever they are. His kind eyes, and the smile that is never far away. The way he looks at Kurt, something like want and desire mixed with amusement. Although it sometimes makes Kurt feel awkward and juvenile. How he chose Kurt at that party, and six months later still chooses him, makes him feel… Not always a priority, not as special as he'd think being someone's boyfriend would be, not as consumed as his younger self daydreamed about. But it makes him feel noticed, although in a much better way than at McKinley.

Being with Kevin is nice, and if they can solve some of the objections Kurt has, maybe it could be downright wonderful. He still doesn't know Kevin all that well, maybe they have tons of more things in common. There's just this annoying little voice in the back of his head that keeps telling him that he deserves more. But fairytale romances don't happen in real life. Reality isn't like _Moulin Rouge_ or _The Notebook_ or _West Side Story_. Real life requires making the best of it, settling with what is possible, working with realistic goals, and in Tim Gunn's words; _make it work_.

He finally falls asleep, just a few hours before his alarm clock brings him back to the world of adults with responsibilities and commitments. He manages to go through the motions of his school day, with only the need of a band aid after an unfortunately distracted accident by the sewing machine. He can hear some of the most competitive girls gossiping about his clumsiness, and how he destroyed the fabric with blood. His teacher seems far more lenient, though, and just checks he doesn't need stitches in the thicker flesh on the back of his hand, and then playfully offers both chain stitches, feather stitches and knot stitches, just in case. He equally playfully declines, downs an espresso in the next break, and manages to pull through the rest of his classes without any other misfortune.

The painful feeling in his stomach never gives in, though.

He's almost by Kevin's place, when his Dad calls. Kurt sidesteps into a small alley, to get away from the pedestrians rushing in every direction.

"Hi Kiddo!"

"Dad, hi!" Kurt can't help but smile brightly, even though he can't see him. "You're here in less than three days."

"Can't a father call his son if he wants to hear his voice?"

"He can, Dad."

"Carole sends her love, and says she wanted to bring a pie or something for Thanksgiving, but isn't sure how it'll be to fly with."

"Tell her not to worry, Dad; Rachel and I've got it covered," he says around a yawn.

"So, what's troubling you? And don't try to deny it, 'cause I can hear you're distracted. Your old man knows something's not right when you don't give him a hundred per cent."

"How did you know?"

"I happen to know my son. So, wanna talk about it?"

"It's Kevin," Kurt admits. There's no point trying to avoid it, and to be honest, the prospect of talking it through with his Dad is quite alluring. "I'm trying to decide where I want our relationship to go."

"You're not… You're not thinking about proposing, are you?"

"What?" Kurt shrieks, and knows at least two passersby look curiously at him. Even in New York, a shrill outburst can draw at least some attention. "No, of course not, we're not there."

"Okay, good, good."

"Why is that good?" Kurt asks defensively. Even though the idea hadn't occurred to him, it doesn't mean he wants his own dad to hate the thought of forever with whomever Kurt is dating.

"Look Kid, I've never even met this Kevin. You're a grown man now, and make your own decisions. My job as the Protective Papa is to worry about your happiness."

"He's going to Boston for Thanksgiving," Kurt says, "so you won't meet him."

"That's okay, I'm not gonna force you or him to anything. But are you happy, Kurt?"

"I'm in New York, Dad. I'm in the city I dreamed about, studying something I love, and working somewhere useful for my education. Not everyone has that," Kurt sighs.

"But is he making you happy."

"Of course he does," Kurt says quickly. Of course he does. Of course. He wouldn't be with Kevin if it made him unhappy.

"That's all I want for you, Son. God, I remember when I first met your mom. We weren't much older than you are now, and she knocked the breath out of me. Ever after, it felt as if I couldn't breathe properly if we weren't together. Nobody has made me feel like that again, until you introduced me to Carole. And I'm not saying that to hurt you, Kurt, 'cause I love you to death and you know it. But to be in love with someone, to be so completely at the mercy of their soul and heart, that is a fantastic feeling. It's the best, and I only want the best for you."

"Tell me more about when you met Mom," Kurt begs. He loves hearing about his mother, especially the stories he can't possible remember; from before he was born.

"Your mom…" Burt says uncharacteristically tender. "She made me feel so special. With her, I was a stronger and better young man. We brought out the best in each other, and there were never any reason to not spend time together, when it only improved us. We could sit silently together doing our separate things, and it was never uncomfortable. Just being near each other felt like a gift. You know she was an amazing cook, and if it hadn't been for all the great sex I would have gotten fat from all her delicious food," he chuckles.

"TMI, Dad, TMI," Kurt laughs.

"I'm just saying. We never needed grand gestures and heavily coordinated dates to have something special, although we did those things too. Just sitting next to her was enough to make me happy. That kind of loving happiness, it's not something you do or work for. It's something you simply feel and are. Making a relationship work takes time and effort. But being in love, that's easy. I never had to try to achieve that. Not with your mom and not with Carole. It simply happens."

"You make it sound like a fairytale romance," Kurt sniffs.

"When it's right, it beats any Cinderella-story, Kid. Because when it's right, it's your own, special story, and not some Disney manufactured mass produced mumbo-jumbo."

"Dad," Kurt laughingly objects. "I loved Cinderella as a kid, and how she fought against her step-sisters for happiness."

"I hope you don't have to fight so hard these days, Kiddo."

"Thank you, Dad," Kurt murmurs, thinking back to his four years long battle at McKinley. "I have to go now, so I'm not late for Kevin. He promised me dinner."

"Okay, enjoy your food and tell him I said hi."

They exchange their _I love you_'s before hanging up, and Kurt has to lean against the brick wall for a moment, really thinking about everything his Dad just said. Is he settling with Kevin? Can there be something closer to his romantic teenage daydreams out there waiting for him?

Not long after he's back to walking, his phone calls again. It's Kevin.

"Hi Babe, I'm on my way out to pick up food, are you far away?"

Kurt quickly glances around to check his surroundings before he answers.

"I'm passing that Italian bistro right after the subway, headed for your place."

"I've ordered food at _China Doll-Roll_, do you know where that is?"

Kurt denies his knowledge about the place, so Kevin gives him instructions, promising Kurt that he's only five minutes away.

Kevin is waiting for him in front of the take away-place, and smiles widely when he sees him

"There you are," he smiles. "I'm hungry, so I decided to order, hoping you like Chinese."

"Chinese is great," Kurt says and opens the door, stepping in after the young man.

Kevin walks straight for the counter, and gives a number or his name, or whatever he has to give to identify himself for his order.

"I'm paying for the both of us. Can't let the poor student go broke on your delicious food," Kevin grins at the tiny Asian woman behind the counter, and nods in Kurt's direction. She laughs with him. Kurt isn't laughing. Being treated to a meal on a romantic date is one thing. Being treated like a charity case is something else entirely.

Kevin leaves the change as tip, and takes the paper bag in one hand and Kurt's hand in his other, yanking him outside again. Kurt takes his hand back, wiggling his fingers as if to shake off the sensation of being held.

"What's wrong? You always do that when I try to hold your hand."

"It's…" Kurt wants to lie and say it's nothing, but he thinks it's about time they are frank and direct with each other. "…complicated. Can we talk about it in your place?"

"Yeah. Sure. Of course." Kevin looks confused at him.

The walk to Kevin's apartment is silent, and quite uncomfortable. Kurt tries to ease the tension with some anecdotes from school, but Kevin smiles humourlessly, telling him the teachers did the same things back when he was a Sophomore at Parsons. So Kurt doesn't say anything else until he's seated in Kevin's couch.

"Sticks or fork?"

"Chopsticks obviously, are there any other acceptable way to eat Chinese?" Kurt says, trying to make Kevin laugh. Kevin sucks at using the sticks. He doesn't smile.

"Beer or Pepsi?" he asks instead.

"You don't happen to have diet coke?" Kurt asks, but expecting the answer.

"No, I never buy that, sorry," Kevin says. After these months, he still doesn't know what Kurt prefers to drink. So he politely asks for a glass of ice water instead.

They're halfway down in the food cartons, before Kevin says something that isn't about how delicious the food tastes.

"So what's wrong with my hand? Is it the lack of manicures?" he asks. Kurt thinks he's trying to be funny, but it sounds like an accusation.

"Kevin, you're the first guy I've ever…" He hesitates for a moment, but decides he can use that word. Even if they aren't Facebook-official boyfriends, it must be possible to call this night a date? Yeah, it has to. Even though Kurt thinks he may be ending it. "…dated after I came to New York, and I'm still trying to get used to it."

"Getting used to me?" Kevin's forehead is scrunched up in hurt confusion.

"No, getting used to dating in New York."

"How is that different from Ohio?" Kevin shrugs.

Kurt hasn't told him much about his high school-experiences. Their conversations have never reached a temperature where it feels natural to talk about bullying and bad memories. Kevin doesn't even know about Chandler, and how their entire relationship was mostly based on intense musical discussions at _Between The Sheets_, overly flirty texts, watching movies at Kurt's and making out at Chandler's - because his parents were more absent than Kurt's family was. Never did they ever act as if they were dating when in public.

"It isn't the easiest place to grow up as a gay teenager," Kurt says, knowing it's the understatement of the millennium. "People tend to be not quite as tolerant to gay PDA as they generally are here, and I'm still struggling with the changes."

"It can't have been that bad," Kevin insists. "You shouldn't be afraid of handholding. It's hardly offensive or indecent."

"God Kevin, haven't you read any of the difficult coming out-stories? Haven't you heard about gay bashing? Haven't you seen the suicide numbers? Haven't you noticed The Trevor Project?"

"To be honest, Babe, I'm not all that interested in those things. Yay Team Gay for those who want to make a statement out of it, but I couldn't care less about the so-called gay movement. And to be honest, I think some of the changes are a disadvantage to me. Just because some gay activists talk about adopting babies as a universal right, people expect me to _want_ a baby. Well, I don't, and I just want to be left alone. My private life shouldn't be politics."

Kurt knows it is unflattering and impolite, but he's gawking with mouth wide open. How can he have spent time with this boy for three months, and not knowing he's an ignorant gay?

"I cordially have to object to every single one of your statements," Kurt says calmly. "I'm glad it was unproblematic for you to grow up out and proud in Boston. But some of us didn't have that luxury."

"How bad can kids really be?"

"First of all, it's not only the kids who are homophobic and unafraid to lash out. Secondly, one of my classmates threatened my life Junior year," Kurt seethes. Okay, he's not being completely fair, because the story with Dave was fucking complicated, and Kevin doesn't need to know that the two of them are actually fairly amicable these days. The point still remains. High school sucked, and Kurt isn't comfortable doing what can be seen as provocative actions back home. He's still adjusting to be able to wear whatever he wants, without cleaning slushie out of it in the evenings.

"I guess I haven't met anyone who's lived that far from New York before," Kevin shrugs.

"Ohio really isn't that far away," Kurt sighs. "Don't you want our relationship to have the same rights, opportunities and possibilities as your straight engaged sister's has?"

Kevin shuts up, looking uncomfortably at him.

"Where are we going, Kevin?"

Kevin looks surprised at him.

"I really like you," he insists. "And we have fun together." Kurt doesn't object, although he doubts he agrees. "Does it have to be more than it already is?"

"Yes," Kurt says, not a grain of doubt in his soul. "I want more. But I don't think I want it with you."

"Because I don't understand Ohioans?"

"Because we come from different worlds. You're a great guy, honestly, but we're not right for each other."

"So that's it?" Kevin asks sadly.

"I'm sorry." Kurt may not have a string of ex-boyfriends, but he knows better than to toss the clichés about staying friends and those things. So instead, he takes his empty water glass and garbage to the kitchen. Kevin walks him to the door.

"Good luck at Parsons. From what I've seen, your designs are amazing. I'll be looking for a Hummel original in a few years."

"Thank you," Kurt blushes. Compliments are still difficult. "Enjoy your kinky boots, and don't forget that you're also a fashion designer."

Kevin gives him a hug, and that's it. It's over. Kurt never looks back.

He doesn't want Kevin to see him cry.


End file.
